


You Give Me Fever

by verhalen



Series: Learning To Fly [4]
Category: Flameborn (Multiverse), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Awkward Crush, Bathing/Washing, Bisexual Male Character, Broken Engagement, Caretaking, Chest Hair, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cunnilingus, Daddy Kink, Elves Reborn As Mortal, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Gay Sex, He's The One They Call Doctor Feelgood, Het and Slash, If It Were Any More Enthusiastic The Universe Would Explode, Influenza, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Magical Realism, Massage, Masturbation, May/December Relationship, Modern Era, Multi, Mutual Pining, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Play, Older Man/Younger Man, Past Child Abuse, Past Lives, Penis In Vagina Sex, Phone Sex, Polyamory, Praise Kink, Prophetic Dreams, Reincarnation, Sensual Play, Sharing a Bed, Sickfic, Silver Fox, Soren being Soren, Sören Also In "Doctor" Mode If You Know What I Mean, Sören In Doctor Mode, Sören Is A Butt, Teasing, Threesome - F/M/M, Visions in dreams, Vulnerability, ahem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:21:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 114,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23288437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verhalen/pseuds/verhalen
Summary: Followup toWarm In December.Sören has a crush on Karen and Geir's friend, the elderly Classics professor Nicholas Decaux - who has now become his friend as well - but doesn't think it's reciprocated. Nicholas is in love with Sören, and likewise doesn't think it's reciprocated. Karen and Geir know the truth, and conspire to get the two of them together for Valentine's Day 2015. But life has a way of throwing a monkey wrench into their plans...
Relationships: Fëanor/Fingolfin, Geir Strøm (OMC)/Sören Sigurðsson (OMC), Karen Swanson (OFC)/Sören Sigurðsson (OMC), Nicholas Decaux (OMC)/Sören Sigurðsson (OMC), implied Fëanor/Eärwen
Series: Learning To Fly [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1539544
Comments: 65
Kudos: 37





	1. Forbidden

**Author's Note:**

> Sören Sigurðsson and Anthony Hewlett-Johnson are my OMCs. For more information, please refer to my [Transformative Works Statement](https://verhalen.dreamwidth.org/263827.html).
> 
> Nicolae Dooku is an OMC inspired by Dooku from Star Wars. I began shipping Dooku with an OC named Sev in 2016 in a (now-archive-locked) fic called [_Stuck in the Middle With You_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8786491), and in 2018 wrote a modern Earth AU called [_Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14787306) where Sev became a human named Sören, and Dooku evolved beyond his canonical self. He looks and sounds very similar and there are similar personality traits if you squint (such as his elegance and being formal and polite to a fault), but he is also decidedly non-villainous in my multiverse and I feel it is more fair at this point to call him an OC.
> 
>  **December 2020 update:** This story has undergone some minor edits for mental health reasons connected to the dissolution of a collaborative effort with another author, where we have mutually severed ties; Karen and Geir are a modified pastiche of the OCs previously involved. The comments on this fic reflect the earlier version.
> 
> ~ ~ ~
> 
>   
> (banner made by me)

**January 2015**   
_London, England_

Even after almost a year of friendship, Nicholas Decaux found himself shyly hesitating as he produced the smartphone from his pocket, pausing before he hit speed dial for Karen's number. Some of it, of course was that the world had been changing so radically the last twenty years - he still hadn't quite gotten the hang of this cell phone business, especially when he'd upgraded from a flip phone at Karen and Geir's insistence. ("Why do you still have a flip phone in 2014, Dad?") But also, after a largely solitary existence, it still felt strange to Nicholas to have friends, let alone friends he considered family, his own adopted children.

It was a wonderful feeling. But strange.

Nicholas cleared his throat as he heard one ring, then two. Karen answered. "Hi, Dad," she said brightly.

"Karen, hello. Forgive me for the intrusion -"

A soft, musical laugh. Nicholas felt himself smiling at the sound of it. "You're never a bother, Dad."

"All right. Well..." Nicholas surveyed the ingredients on his counter and the snow falling outside. "I have enough here to make beef bourgignon for four people, if you and Geir would care to accompany me, and of course Sören is invited, if he's not working..." Nicholas's face burned and his stomach fluttered, speaking the name of the beautiful young man aloud.

"It just so happens that Sören has the night off. He wanted to take a night to himself tonight, but I don't think he'll turn down the offer of your cooking."

Nicholas chuckled. "I'm glad he likes it." His stomach went from flutters to flip-flops at the possibility of seeing him again.

_Stop this nonsense at once. You're old enough to be his father, and he's Karen and Geir's partner._

He'd told himself many times now since he'd first laid eyes on Sören just before Christmas - when he'd answered the door to find Sören laughing at the sign of "My hovercraft is full of eels" in Latin, brown eyes sparkling, a big grin on his face, seeming to light up the entire world, taking his breath away. And he was fond of the Icelandic doctor, mischievous humor and all. Sören was very much his opposite in a lot of ways, but if everyone in the world was just like him, it would be a boring place indeed. And Sören was _interesting_ to Nicholas. There was a wildness to Sören, like flame, but also warmth, like a living bonfire that everyone gathered around, home wherever he was. He was sincerely glad Karen and Geir got to share that warmth - though he was also a touch envious. But Nicholas had given up hope on sharing his life with someone a long time ago, and it was dangerous for him to want Sören. If he confessed his admiration, not only did he run the risk of being rejected because of his age, or perhaps being too formal, too stuffy - and there was also the matter of Sören working a lot of hours, maybe not having time for a third partner - but he also ran the risk of ruining his friendships with Karen and Geir. And his friendship with Sören itself - he didn't want to make Sören feel uncomfortable around him. So he was resigned to silence. Hoping he'd just get over this silly, foolish crush he had on the younger man.

It hadn't happened yet.

"Anyway, Geir and I will be over shortly," Karen said.

"All right, I'll start working on dinner."

"See you soon."

Geir and Karen had a key to Nicholas's flat, and they just let themselves in when they arrived - Nicholas was chopping vegetables and singing along with Bizet.

_"“Toréador, en garde!  
Toréador! Toréador!”_

Karen and Geir came over to give Nicholas a hug, making him smile. Then Tobias came out of hiding, strolling over to Karen and Geir for pettings. "Prrrp?"

"Hi Toby," Geir said, stooping down to stroke the cat.

Nicholas paused chopping and glared. "As you know, his name is Tobias." Sören had gotten in the habit of calling the cat Toby when he came over - Sören also called him Nick; everyone called him Nicholas, he was surprised he allowed Sören to get away with it.

"Hi Toby," Karen said, scooping up the cat and skritching him. At the look Nicholas gave her, Karen batted her lashes and gave an innocent smile. With Tobias in her arms, kneading and purring loudly, she headed over to the couch; Geir went into Nicholas's fridge and came over with bottled water for himself and Karen, sitting next to her.

"Which one of us is going to do the honors of calling Sören?" Geir asked.

"I'll do it," Karen said, and pulled her cell phone out of her jeans.

Nicholas's heart beat just a little faster. _Get a hold of yourself, you foolish old man._ He was barely breathing as Karen dialed Sören's number and it rang, and had to nudge himself to resume chopping vegetables. Nonetheless he kept an eye on Karen, noticing when she frowned and hit End.

"He didn't pick up?" Nicholas asked.

"No," Karen said. Tobias gave a little chirp and Karen stroked his chin. "I'll try again in a few minutes."

Nicholas tried to focus on the task at hand, working in the kitchen, but he kept glancing over at the grandfather clock, and then at Karen. At last Karen dialed Sören's number again and when she hung up without talking to him, Nicholas once again paused what he was doing. He raised an eyebrow as he inquired, "No answer?"

Karen shook her head.

"Maybe he's painting. Or in the shower," Geir said. "Or maybe he just crashed."

"I don't think he's gone to bed yet," Karen said, "and it's not like him to turn off his phone when he's awake." She pursed her lips. "I'll give it a little while in case he's in the shower, like you said."

When everything was ready, Nicholas put it in the oven, where it would cook for the next three and a half hours. He joined Karen and Geir in the living room with a glass of wine, and Tobias jumped on his lap, purring. Karen took her cell phone off the coffee table again and dialed Sören's number. Four rings and Nicholas heard "You've reached the voice mail of Sören Sigurðsson" before Karen hit End and folded her arms, scowling.

"I'm worried," Karen said. "He doesn't usually just ignore his phone like this."

"You think something happened?" Geir asked.

"I don't know." Karen took a deep breath. "I feel like something's wrong. I'm not going to be able to relax until I go check on him."

"If something's wrong maybe you shouldn't go alone," Nicholas said. He looked back into the kitchen, over at the oven. "As much as I dislike leaving the oven on unattended, our meal will need over three hours to cook, and we shan't be gone that long, just going over to... Holborn, is it?"

"Yes, he lives in Holborn." Karen nodded. "He's a couple blocks away from Lincoln's Inn Fields."

"I'll come with you," Nicholas said.

"Are you sure? This is my worry, and if you just wanted to rest -"

Nicholas waved a hand dismissively. He knew there was an unspoken-to-be-polite concern about whether or not at his age, he didn't need the rest. At sixty-six years old, Nicholas was still in good shape - his physician said he was in "remarkable" condition for his age - which he attributed to going on regular walks, getting plenty of activity with the care and upkeep of his home and garden, and he even practiced tai chi. "I said I'll come with you. I wouldn't have made an empty offer, you should know me by now."

"OK." Karen nodded.

Nicholas looked at Geir. "Are you accompanying us?"

"Might as well, unless you'd rather I kept an eye on the oven." Geir looked at the kitchen.

"No, I think it'll be fine unattended. Should we take a taxi?" Nicholas looked back at Karen.

"I'll call one," Karen said.

Nicholas hoped there wasn't anything wrong with Sören - he fought off the mental images of a thousand worst-case scenarios; the thought of never seeing that smile, hearing that laugh again filled him with dread and sorrow. But he also trusted Karen's intuition, and if she thought something was off...

_

"Here's hoping he won't be too mad at us," Geir said as they got off the lift and Karen took out the key she had to Sören's flat.

"Here's hoping." Karen marched to the door and unlocked it.

They were greeted by the sounds of Jamiroquai, turned up loud.

_Pass each other by like ships in the night  
And I still wonder why  
It's like it is  
Memories of how we'd cross this bridge together  
Super glued forever  
It was all so fine_

_And what I want and what you give  
Are two completely different things  
And it just don't feel the same  
Now you don't call my name  
And when we had what we had  
For me life didn't seem so bad  
I keep staring every day  
at this empty picture frame_

Sören was on the couch, in a heather grey T-shirt and red plaid pajama bottoms, wrapped up in the Pusheen blanket that Nicholas had given him for Christmas. His nape-length dark curls were disheveled and his full lips were frowning, his brown eyes heartbreakingly sad. In one hand Sören was holding a bottle of beer, and in the other hand he was holding a stuffed blue tiger, and his arm was crooked around a pillowcase that had something bulging inside it.

On the coffee table were two empty beer bottles, a hollow book that was open and had pieces of paper and plastic zipper-lock bags of dried flower petals in it, and a photo album; Nicholas glanced over and saw a photo of Sören with a man who appeared to be roughly the same age as him. Short black hair, green eyes, classically handsome features, a genuine smile with his eyes crinkled at the corners, cheeks slightly flushed. Judging from the background they had taken a selfie of themselves at Brighton, on the Undercliff Walk, white cliffs gleaming in the distance, bright blue sky, steel blue sea.

Sören was crying. When he saw Karen, Geir and Nicholas walk into the flat he blinked in surprise, rubbing his beard, and then he started crying harder, like he was ashamed of himself to be seen this way. "Oh god. I'm a fucking wreck, I'm sorry..." He grabbed the remote for his stereo to turn it down.

Nicholas ached for him. He couldn't bear to see Sören so upset. He fought the urge to take the young man into his arms and instead reached for a box of tissues on the coffee table and handed it to him.

" _Takk_ ," Sören said, wiping his face.

"Sören, are you OK?" Geir asked, and then he said, "Well, obviously you're not OK, but -"

Sören sighed and looked down at his bunny slippers. "No, I'm not OK."

"What happened?" Karen gingerly sat down next to Sören on the couch and Geir sat on the arm of the couch, while Nicholas took a seat in the armchair.

"Nothing happened, exactly." Sören sniffled. "It's." He sighed again; Nicholas also sighed, Sören's accent was meltingly heavy. "It's January sixth." He sniffled and wiped his running nose. "I moved in with Anthony today in 2012..."

"Oh."

"And it just. Really. Hit me." Sören closed his eyes and tears silently slid down his cheeks.

"So this is him?" Nicholas picked up the photo album on the coffee table to get a better look.

"That's him," Sören said.

Nicholas was irritated with himself for finding Anthony attractive, thinking Sören and Anthony looked good together, and feeling a little frisson of arousal thinking about them coupling, how aesthetically lovely that must have been. He quickly handed the photo album over to Karen, who nodded. "That's definitely him," Karen said, and then she explained to Nicholas, "Anthony Hewlett-Johnson. He was in my diploma group."

"Oh, so he's a barrister."

"He's not just a barrister, they call him the Shark of Lincoln's Inn," Karen said. "Anthony is a nasty piece of work."

"Oh, he's _not_ ," Sören insisted. "Whatever he was like in the courtroom, he was always kind to me. Until the end, when he cheated." Sören gestured to the hollow book. "I kept all the love notes, and some petals from each bouquet of flowers he gave me - which wasn't just on Valentine's Day or other special occasions, but was random, too. And..." Sören made the blue stuffed tiger he was holding bounce across the coffee table. "This is Tony. He gave him to me. He hated that I named him Tony, but whatever." Sören giggled, and then he started crying again.

So this Anthony was always an Anthony and not a Tony, and Sören liked to annoy him with the name Tony, like a schoolboy who teases someone he likes. Nicholas wondered if that meant anything, with Sören calling his cat Toby and calling him Nick. _Don't get your hopes up._

"And what's in the pillowcase?" Nicholas asked. "Is it something else he gave you?"

Sören's face fell, and Nicholas knew immediately he'd hit a nerve without meaning to. "I'm sorry," Nicholas said.

Sören shook his head. "It's all right. It's." He put Tony down and handed the pillowcase to Nicholas.

Nicholas didn't know what was inside and he felt like he'd been entrusted with a rare artifact of some kind. Very carefully, he reached inside the pillowcase and he gasped when he produced the severed head of a cornflower-blue bunny with floppy ears and a sweet expression.

"That's Bláberja," Sören said.

"What... what happened to him?" Nicholas swallowed hard.

"My uncle Einar happened to him," Sören said, a bitter edge to his voice that cut Nicholas to the quick.

Nicholas waited, letting Sören make the next move as to whether or not he explained that further. Sören took back the pillowcase and pulled out an arm, a leg, a torso with an arm and leg attached. "My mamma made him for me when I was four, before she died. It's the only thing I have to remember her by. My father's sister and her husband took us in after my mamma died, and they drank, and..."

Nicholas's eyes stung with unshed tears, a lead weight in his stomach.

Sören scowled as he went on. "Einar was always at me to 'be a real man' and when he found out I was fourteen and still had my bunny, well." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I saved the parts but I can't sew. I'm a doctor and I do surgery for a living but it's different to work on, you know, cloth people. Anthony knew about my bunny but he can't sew and he doesn't know anyone who sews or he would have fixed him. He got me Tony after he found out about my bunny."

"So you've had him all this time, in the pillowcase," Nicholas said, hurting for him.

Sören nodded. "I'm sorry. I know that's a real downer..." He began to put the bunny parts back in the pillowcase.

"Sören, you needn't apologize." Nicholas leaned in and found himself taking Sören's hand, squeezing. It felt like touching a live wire. "You didn't ask for what happened to you."

Sören laughed bitterly. "Well, you know. If I had just been 'a real man.'" Sören snorted. "I promised myself I would never be like him. And for the most part I'm not. But here I am getting piss drunk mourning Anthony..."

"It's still different," Karen said. "You're not violent."

Nicholas's eyes widened. He should have assumed that considering the violence done to the stuffed bunny, but...

Noticing Nicholas's shock, Sören nodded. "I have scars all over my back from where he beat me with a belt." He got up, and pulled off his T-shirt. Nicholas's mouth went dry at the sight of Sören's bare chest, noticing the sleeve tattoos that went all the way up his shapely arms - orange flames on one, blue ocean waves on the other - and he had pierced nipples. Sören's nipples were hard in the drafty air of the flat, and looked delicious. Nicholas wondered if Anthony had played with the nipple rings, sucked on those pretty little jeweled rosebuds...

_Stop that._

Sören turned around. There was a magnificent painting of two birds on his back, one made of fire, one made of water, wings spread, beak to beak, forming a heart, their tails entwined. The birds did a good job of concealing the scars, which Nicholas did notice at a second, closer glance. There were a lot of them.

"I have a pretty high pain tolerance now," Sören said, reaching for his shirt, which he put back on - inside-out and backwards at first, then he muttered " _fokking blóðug helvíti_ ," yanking his shirt off and putting it back on the right way before he sat down. "So. Já. Einar used to beat me and sometimes Katrín did too. That's the kind of shit I grew up with."

"It's remarkable that you've made it as far in life as you have," Nicholas said, genuinely impressed. He knew a lot of people who came from similar backgrounds succumbed to addiction, or worse.

"I almost didn't. I had a bit of a breakdown in med school and I got the ink done based on a painting I made, sort of a form of therapy, to, ah, take back my body from them." Sören took another swig of beer. "I also was in a really dark place for awhile after I left Anthony. Not that this isn't a dark place." Sören scowled. "You'd think I'd be over it, it's been over a year since we broke up..."

"But you loved him," Karen said.

"We had such a good life together. And after everything I'd been through... it was like a dream come true. He made me _happy._ " Tears spilled down Sören's cheeks again. "And today was, well, it was a reminder of when we lived together. Having a _home_ together. We were each other's shelter, our safe place, where we could just be ourselves, accepted as we were, not have to be 'on' all the time. Our refuge from our crazy jobs, the crazy world. Our place of peace. Of rest. We would talk about the future, like growing old and retiring together... getting a cat or two. And in a single afternoon it all fell apart. After the trauma I've been through - my aunt and uncle, then getting roofied at a club, my sister's murder - that was traumatic, too. Now anytime I feel like I'm happy, like I'm safe, I wonder if the other shoe's gonna drop, if it's gonna be all taken away from me again..." Sören broke down sobbing.

Karen and Geir both put their arms around him, holding him tight, rocking him. Nicholas felt the fierce urge to wrap him in a protective bubble and fix things for him somehow, but he didn't know how. When Karen and Geir let go, Nicholas came forward and now he, too, took Sören into his arms. The feel of Sören's lithe body against his made him feel that hunger, wondering what it would feel like skin to skin, writhing together...

...but he tried to keep his libido in check. Now was not the time. _It will never be time._ He smoothed Sören's curls. And he tried to offer what he could of reassurance. "Sören, there's something you have now that you didn't have when all those bad things happened." Their eyes met. "Us."

"He's right," Geir said, and Karen nodded.

"We can't necessarily prevent life from having its problems. But we can be here for you, and do what we can to make things better."

"All I ever wanted growing up was a real family," Sören said, looking down with such pain in his sweet brown eyes that it tore at Nicholas's heart.

"You've got one now," Karen said. "Isn't that right, Dad?"

"Yes," Nicholas said, his arms tightening around Sören.

"All of you have been so nice to me," Sören said, snuffling. "Thank you." He nodded at Geir and Karen, and then he looked back at Nicholas, and their eyes met. "Thank you, Daddy."

 _Of course he would just think of me as being like a father._ And yet, Nicholas felt a little thrill at Sören calling him "daddy"... the idea of Sören panting _daddy, daddy, harder, daddy_ underneath him drove him out of his mind with lust.

_Splendid, you're not just infatuated with a man you can't have, but now you're a pervert, too._

"You're a good boy," Nicholas said without thinking about it. "A very special boy."

Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip, looking innocent and naughty all at once. Nicholas fought the urge to kiss him, to drag him off to wherever his bedroom was and make him forget all about Anthony. Make him forget his own name.

 _You've never even had sex, you're still a virgin for Christ's sake._ Indeed, "for Christ's sake" was accurate - Nicholas had entered the priesthood at twenty-five, and left before his thirtieth birthday. But while he'd left the Catholic Church far behind, he'd never quite gotten over his hangups, reinforced by the AIDS epidemic in the 1980s and 1990s, how even without that he could have faced a world of hardship with a male partner. By the time AIDS was no longer a death sentence and societal attitudes were more progressive, he was old and set in his ways. He'd attempted a few dates and found out his personality and habits were an acquired taste. So he'd stopped looking. He'd even fooled himself into thinking he didn't really need anyone.

But he still had skin hunger, and he'd had enough exposure to erotic literature and cinema to know a few things about the mechanics of sex, enough to fantasize... and feeling Sören in his arms was like playing with fire.

Sören even smelled delicious, underneath the smell of the beer it was like like woodsmoke and a floral spice...

Nicholas gently pulled back from Sören, not wanting to get noticeably aroused and especially not in front of Karen and Geir.

"I'm making dinner," Nicholas said.

"Hi Making Dinner, I'm Sören."

Nicholas gave him a look, but it was a good sign that Sören was making those ridiculous jokes, and truthfully he found it endearing. Nicholas went on, "Beef bourgignon. There's enough for four people. It won't be ready for awhile but if you'd like to come back with us..."

"We came in a taxi," Karen said.

"Oh." Sören looked down at his pajama bottoms and then back at Karen, and Nicholas, and Geir. "Well I'd like to but. Ah. I should get presentable to leave the flat, probably."

"We don't mind waiting," Karen said. "It'll take time for the taxi to get here, anyway."

"OK." Sören got up. "I'm gonna, ah... get changed."

"Would you like us to put this stuff away for you?" Geir asked.

"That would help. I'll get changed in the bathroom, if you guys just want to leave shit on my bed that's OK..."

"We don't mind sorting things where they belong properly," Nicholas said.

"In that case, blankie goes on my bed, Tony goes on the table next to my bed, the photo album and hollow book go in the first drawer of my tall dresser, and bunny goes in the closet on top of the shoebox."

Sören turned off his stereo, grabbed clothes from his bedroom and went into the bathroom. Nicholas followed Karen and Geir into the bedroom. He hadn't really gotten a good look at Sören's flat yet - his focus had been on Sören - but now he glanced around and he felt another twinge of sadness at how utterly spartan Sören's flat was, with very little in the way of decor other than a few framed paintings, like "Starry Night" by Van Gogh. This appeared to be one of those pre-furnished setups, the furniture all modern. Nicholas knew with the kind of hours Sören put in at the hospital he wasn't at home much, but this looked like just a place to eat and sleep, not really someplace to rest and relax. And Sören was probably too busy and too tired when he wasn't busy to make it feel like more of a home.

Karen, Geir and Nicholas were still in their outerwear, having gone straight to Sören when they walked in. Nicholas had the pillowcase with the bunny in his hand, opening the closet door, but then he paused. He did, in fact, know how to sew - like cooking, it was a life skill of necessity when he'd been a priest - and he had more free time than Sören did, as a Classics professor. So he tucked the pillowcase into his trenchcoat, feeling for a moment like he was a spy smuggling equipment or a weapon. Karen noticed and her mouth opened before she gave him a delighted grin and he put a finger to his lips.

"I want it to be a surprise," Nicholas muttered.

Sören came out of the bathroom in jeans and a red plaid flannel shirt over a black Joy Division T-shirt. He still looked like he'd been crying for hours, but that didn't make him less attractive at all to Nicholas.

Unfortunately.

"Shall we wait outside for the taxi? Some fresh air might help," Nicholas said.

Sören nodded. He pulled on his leather bomber and then added the Pusheen scarf that Nicholas had given him for Christmas, along with the blanket, managing a smile as he wrapped the scarf around his neck.

"Here." Karen took Sören's hand and Geir took the other hand. They led and Nicholas followed, trying not to watch Sören's ass on the way out.

He was glad Sören was coming for dinner - and Tobias would be happy - but it would be a long evening. Nicholas's heart sank with every step, wishing he could soothe Sören's hurt. Wishing he could heal that part with his own love, his own touch.

It was a wish he desperately did not want to have. _That boy has been through enough, never mind a creepy old man coming onto him._

Nicholas sighed as they left the stairwell and stepped out into the crisp winter night, snow falling around them. Snowflakes fell into Sören's black curls and lashes and beard like a thousand tiny diamonds _and you shine even more brightly than a diamond, my dear._

  
  



	2. Stitches

"Wake up, sleepyhead."  
  
Sören smiled as Karen rained kisses over his face, tousling his curls. He opened his eyes and his smile got bigger at the love in Karen's eyes, the grin on her sweet face as she leaned over him, still in a pair of cream silk pajamas.  
  
"Mmmf, what time is it?" Sören yawned and looked over at the clock, and his eyes widened when he saw it was after 1 PM.  
  
"We were up late last night," Karen said, stroking Sören's face - Sören shivered at her touch; he remembered last night very well indeed. "And I thought I would let you sleep in."  
  
"That's very good of you, _takk_ ," Sören said, taking Karen's hand and kissing it. It was also impressive to him since he knew Karen was a morning person, and had probably been up for some time. While Sören knew he didn't have to be "on" all the time entertaining her, he still felt a small twinge of guilt, not wanting her to be bored while he slept.  
  
Or take it personally. Sören felt another twinge of guilt, thinking about that weekend in Brighton a few weeks before the end, when Sören was so exhausted from hundred-hour workweeks that he just crashed, sleeping almost all weekend, and found out later on Anthony was stung, feeling ignored.  
  
This was far from sleeping all weekend - Sören had left work at eight PM last night and after a quiet dinner at Karen's flat, he and Karen had been up till almost three in the morning making love. It was more than eight hours of sleep, but Sören had also worked seventy-two hours last week and clearly, he needed the rest.  
  
He had tonight off too - it was rare he had a full Sunday off, but here it was. He was scheduled for some time alone with Geir later this evening, but in the meantime...  
  
Sören pulled Karen down into a kiss and they both moaned as their tongues played together, teasing. Then Karen sat up, chuckling, shaking her head. "If we go at it we'll never get out of bed today, and we have a dinner invitation over at Nicholas's tonight, before you and Geir, ahem."  
  
"Oh!" Sören perked up at the mention of Nicholas. His heart skipped a beat and his stomach fluttered, eager with anticipation to see Nicholas again. It had been almost two weeks - it was January eighteenth now, and the last time he'd seen him was when Sören was very upset, crying over the three-year anniversary of when he'd moved in with Anthony. Sören wasn't really "over it", but he'd been distracted by working so much the last two weeks, and now he was in better spirits just by virtue of being relaxed. Not that Nicholas had seemed to be annoyed with Sören for crying... just the opposite. Nicholas had been comforting... fatherly.  
  
Sören found that sexy. Dangerously so.  
  
"He asked about you, you know," Karen said as Sören began pulling on a fresh change of clothes.  
  
Sören felt that flutter again, and now a tingle and a flood of warmth. He fought back a grin, biting his lip. "Oh, he did?"  
  
Karen nodded. She also began changing - Sören sighed at the sight of her bare breasts, and Karen caught him looking with a giggle. She tossed a pillow at him and Sören caught it, also laughing. Karen gave her breasts a playful shake before they disappeared into a lace push-up bra. "He wanted to make sure you were OK, since he hasn't seen you. He said he thought about stopping by the National on his way home from UCL to bring you coffee but he didn't know your schedule."  
  
Sören's face was on fire now. He would have loved that. _Anthony used to do that, sometimes._ Sören hated that he still missed Anthony. And he hated that little hopeful feeling with Nicholas's expressed interest in visiting him at work. _It doesn't mean he's into you like that. He's just being nice. He's a nice guy._  
  
"I'll have to give him a copy of my schedule," Sören said.  
  
"I thought about it, since _as you know_ I have one," Karen said.  
  
Sören cracked a smile at the humor with Nicholas's verbal tic. "As you know."  
  
"But I didn't want to just give it to him without asking you first," Karen said. "I didn't know if it would be unwelcome, I didn't want to interfere -"  
  
Sören waved his hand dismissively. "It's all right. I mean, Nicholas is a friend. I'm very fond of him." _Too fond of him._ Sören bit his lip again, and was grateful for the moment of pulling his T-shirt over his head so Karen couldn't see how red his face was becoming. _Get a fucking hold of yourself._ "I appreciate the consideration, though."  
  
"He also wants a copy of your recipe for... what's that called... the chocolate licorice biscuits -"  
  
" _Lakkrístoppar_ ," Sören said, delighted - those were his favorite kind of cookie.  
  
Karen nodded. "He liked the others, too, but he really liked those when you brought them over for Christmas, and he wants to make them for you sometime."  
  
Sören beamed. "Well, I wouldn't mind making them for him again." Sören glanced at the clock again. "Do we have some time to kill before we stop by Nicholas's, or did you intend for us to go very early?"  
  
"We can take a couple hours to make a batch if that was what you were thinking." Karen's face lit up. "I love baking, and I love that it's one of the things I can share with you."  
  
"It's fun to have someone to bake with," Sören said. "I don't always have energy to do it, with my hours being what they are..." He made a face and groaned. Karen patted him and gave him a sympathetic look. "But when I've got time, I enjoy it."  
  
Karen grabbed Sören and gave him a little kiss. "You're a sweetheart, wanting to take him another batch of biscuits."  
  
 _I'd like to give him my biscuits if you know what I mean._ Sören's face burned even harder and he shoved that mental image away as fast as he could.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Sören could barely breathe in the lift going up to Nicholas's flat, and it wasn't just claustrophobia. His heart was racing, stomach doing flip-flops as he, Geir and Karen got out of the elevator and walked to Nicholas's door. Sören found himself smiling once again at the sign that read _MEA NAVIS VOLITANS ANGUILLIS ABUNDAT_ , "My hovercraft is full of eels" in Latin. From that sign alone, he knew he liked Nicholas. And his fondness had only grown since meeting him.  
  
Nicholas answered the door, a small smile on his lips, dark eyes shining with warmth as he gestured for the three of them to come in. Karen, Geir and Sören removed their footwear by the door and then Nicholas's eyes widened with surprise when he saw the plates of _lakkrístoppar_ in Karen and Sören's hands.  
  
"Is that what I think it is?" Nicholas asked.  
  
Sören nodded solemnly. " _Lakkrístoppar._ "  
  
"Lovely." Nicholas took the plate out of Karen's hands and then from Sören. Sören let out a little gasp, tingling at the brief touch of Nicholas's fingers.  
  
 _The fuck is wrong with you,_ Sören scolded himself as he felt his cock stirring, craving more of those hands.  
  
"I told Sören you were raving about his biscuits," Karen said, and Sören's mind immediately went into the gutter, face burning. _I wish._ "So he wanted to make a batch, and I don't mind helping."  
  
"That was very thoughtful of you," Nicholas said, patting Karen's shoulder, and then he smiled at Sören, eyes crinkling at the corners, and their gaze held. Sören's breath caught, and he grinned back, face even more on fire.  
  
Nicholas took the cookies into the kitchen, with Karen, Geir and Sören following along. "Would you care for any refreshments? Tea, coffee..."  
  
"I could go for some hot tea," Karen said. "It's pretty nippy outside."  
  
Sören nodded. "I'd like something hot, já." _Like you._  
  
"I just put on water before you arrived," Nicholas said. "Sit, make yourselves at home, and I'll bring out the tea service."  
  
Sören sat between Karen and Geir on the larger couch, and Tobias came right over with a "Prrrp?", crawling on Sören. Sören chuckled as Tobias climbed on his shoulder, kneading and purring loudly.  
  
"Hi, Toby," Sören said, skritching the cat.  
  
"As you know, his name is Tobias," Nicholas said with a disapproving look. Sören loved making him make that face, finding it sexy.  
  
Nicholas came in the living room with the tea service and sat in the armchair. He waited for Karen, Geir and Sören to fix their tea the way they liked it before he served himself. Then Karen put her tea down, got up, and gave Nicholas a hug. Geir also got up and hugged both of them.  
  
"Hi Dad," Karen said.  
  
"Hi Dad," Geir said.  
  
Nicholas chuckled and patted each of them. "Hi, kids. How have you been?"  
  
"Good," Karen said. "Busy, but good."  
  
"I have news about a performance I'll be playing flute for with the Orchestra this upcoming spring," Geir said as he returned to his seat.  
  
"Oh!" Nicholas's eyes widened and Sören looked at Geir, waiting. Karen was on the edge of her seat.  
  
"The Royal Ballet is putting on a production of _Coppélia._ In May."  
  
"Oh, _my_." Nicholas nodded. "That would indeed be a treat to see. I do love the story of Franz."  
  
"Practice is going to kick my arse," Geir said, "but it'll be worth it."  
  
Then Nicholas looked over at Sören. Sören felt a little shy about giving him a hug, and in any case he had Tobias on him, kneading and purring away. Sören bit his lower lip. "Hi, Daddy." The _Daddy_ had slipped out awhile back, but since Nicholas was an attractive older man, it fit, though Sören didn't think Nicholas knew enough about queer culture to know Sören was sort of flirting with him.  
  
"How's my special boy?" Nicholas smiled at him.  
  
Sören's heart skipped a beat, his mouth going dry. He quickly sipped some tea. _Oh, if only I could be your special boy, Daddy._ Sören swallowed hard. "Well, work's been beating me into the ground."  
  
"I heard." Nicholas nodded. "Your presence has been missed. As you can see, Tobias is making up for lost time."  
  
"Yes he is, aren't you, Toby?" Sören couldn't resist teasing Nicholas some more with that name.  
  
Nicholas narrowed his eyes and Sören flashed him a wicked grin, as Karen giggled and Geir shook his head.  
  
"That's a good Toby," Sören cooed as Tobias kneaded harder, headbutting his face repeatedly. " _Snaggi litli köttur. Já, þetta er góður, elsku Toby._ "  
  
"I can almost forgive you for mangling my cat's name when you speak in that beautiful language," Nicholas said, eyes meeting Sören's again.  
  
Sören's face was on fire again, stomach jumping. "Oh... you like it?"  
  
Nicholas nodded. "I can see why your people have such a strong poetic tradition, the very sound of your language is like a song."  
  
Sören smiled again. While he'd had frustrations with tourists romanticizing his homeland, he nonetheless appreciated a sincere compliment about Iceland, and one that was so well-thought-out. "We have a lot to sing about," Sören said, aching for the aurora and the midnight sun, the waterfalls and the fjörd where he grew up. "Our land is... is music."  
  
"I can imagine. I've always wanted to see Iceland."  
  
"I got to go in 2009," Karen said. "It's how we met." She rubbed Sören's knee. "Sören played tour guide in Reykjavik."  
  
"Well, you know. For you." Sören grinned at her. "You weren't like other tourists. You weren't just there to party and drink, you wanted to see historical things. Natural things. You were respectful."  
  
"Awww, what's wrong with partying and drinking? All those hot Icelandic guys," Geir teased. Nicholas turned beetroot and Geir laughed harder.  
  
"Nothing, really." Sören gave Geir a pointed look. "Karen and I met at a pub. But, I don't know, it's different with someone who doesn't expect us to live in the past, yet still has an appreciation for it."  
  
"You sound almost homesick," Nicholas said, his voice soft.  
  
"Almost." Sören nodded. "England is home now, I'm becoming a citizen this year." Sören swallowed hard. "Change of subject, please." Why he'd left Iceland was still a sore spot.  
  
"My apologies if I hit a nerve," Nicholas said.  
  
Sören shook his head. "It's fine." He managed a tight smile. "We haven't asked how you've been."  
  
"Oh." Nicholas chuckled. "Teaching, planning lessons, grading papers. The usual. Not really much to report."  
  
"What are you making for dinner?"  
  
Nicholas's lips quirked in a small smile. "Chicken Provençal."  
  
"That sounds wonderful. I mean, your cooking is always wonderful -"  
  
"Thank you. I'd asked Karen what you liked to eat, actually, since I've not seen you in a couple of weeks -"  
  
"Oh, did you?" And Sören's mind went into the gutter again with what he liked to eat, indeed. Geir fought back a snicker and winked at Sören, who gave a clumsy attempt at a wink back.  
  
"And she mentioned you like chicken."  
  
Sören nodded. "I do. That was very nice of you."  
  
"It was very nice of _you_ to bring over the biscuits I like," Nicholas said. "I told Karen I'd like the recipe, so I can make them for you in return sometime..."  
  
"I can give you the recipe before I leave," Sören said, nodding.  
  
"Do you want some help in the kitchen, Dad?" Karen asked.  
  
Nicholas shook his head. "Please, relax, enjoy yourselves." He sipped his tea. "It would be my pleasure to cook for you this evening." Nicholas glanced over at the grandfather clock. "I'll get dinner started soon, but first... finishing my tea."  
  
Silence passed, and Sören felt a little awkward. He looked over at Geir, and couldn't resist cracking a joke. "So, Franz, huh? Where's Hans?"  
  
Geir gave him a bemused look. "What?"  
  
"Hans and Franz." Sören realized Geir had no idea what he was on about. "It's a vintage _Saturday Night Live_ skit, I found it on YouTube once. Let me see if I can find it again..."  
  
Sören pulled out his phone and sure enough, he was able to find Hans and Franz, bodybuilders played by North American comedians with exaggerated fake German accents, and tight shirts stuffed with exaggerated fake muscles. "Ve vill pahmp -" They clapped and pointed. "You ahp!"  
  
"Oh. Oh god." Geir facepalmed, laughing. "No, Franz is nothing like that."  
  
"I wouldn't know." Sören felt sheepish, like a backwards hick among cultured, sophisticated people. "I could tell you everything you never wanted to know about the history of Iceland, and Norse mythology, and Icelandic poets and music and art of the last seventy-five years, but when it comes to ballet, I know nothing."  
  
"To be honest," Nicholas said, "it's nice to have someone who's _not_ familiar with classical music and ballet among us, so we can share things with you that you've not been exposed to, and thus old things are new again for us."  
  
"Exactly," Geir said, nodding. "See, for once we agree on something." Geir smirked. "Maybe you'll come round my way of thinking on jeans at the Royal Opera House."  
  
" _Shan't_ ," Nicholas said, glaring into his tea.  
  
Sören's face was burning again, a flutter in his stomach - he found it strangely endearing when Nicholas said "shan't".  
  
Then Nicholas leaned back in his chair. "Actually, Sören, an Icelander once played the part of Franz in _Coppélia_. In a production by George Balanchine himself. Back in 1974. His name was -"  
  
"Helgi Tomasson," Geir said in a hushed, reverent tone of voice. "Who is now the director of the San Francisco Ballet."  
  
"Oh, really?" Sören found that interesting. "Huh."  
  
"Would you like to watch a performance of _Coppélia_ , while I attend to making dinner? It's not the one I just mentioned," Nicholas said, with a small apologetic frown. "It doesn't have your countryman but it's still worth watching."  
  
"Yes, I'd like to hear what Geir will be playing the flute for," Sören said, nodding.  
  
"Splendid. I shall put the DVD in at once."  
  
Sören tried not to laugh at the overly formal way Nicholas said that, but Karen was silently giggling and Sören joined her - he found Nicholas's affectations cute.  
  
 _He's just cute, period._ Sören couldn't help smiling at the reserved yet palpable excitement as Nicholas got up from the armchair and located his DVD copy of the ballet, seeming eager to share it with someone who'd never seen it before. And Sören appreciated that instead of Nicholas judging him for never having watched ballet, Nicholas was taking enjoyment in Sören's discovery. He still felt like this world was very alien to him, somewhere he didn't quite belong - always that cold prickle, thinking of Anthony's elitist, image-conscious, status-conscious friends throwing around money like it was water - but Nicholas was at least trying to make him feel welcome.  
  
Sören tried to not look at Nicholas's firm, taut ass - in amazing shape for his age - in the black trousers as he squatted in front of the DVD player to put in the disc. When Nicholas got up and faced him, their eyes met for a moment and Nicholas smiled at him. "Enjoy," he said, just before walking into the kitchen, dimming the lights on the way.  
  
Sören was completely unfamiliar with the story of _Coppélia_ , a comic ballet about a Dr. Coppélius who made a doll lifelike enough for a villager named Franz to fall in love with it at the expense of his intended, Swanhilda, who dresses up as the doll and pretends to make it come to life - which saves Franz from being sacrificed so his spirit can animate the doll. Sören was once again enchanted by the dancing, as he had been when he saw _The Nutcracker_ on Christmas Eve, and he imagined it would be even more beautiful in-person. In his mind's eye he could see Geir playing the flute, and just the mental image of that, as well, was captivating, giving him chills.  
  
Of course, he was captivated by the beauty of something else, too. Every now and again Sören stole glances at Nicholas working in the kitchen. He kept trying to fight the urge to look over there, and losing. He couldn't help but admire the tall, lean, powerful figure, the almost-angry look of intense concentration on his face as he prepared the meal. Nicholas seemed to throw himself into cooking the same way Sören threw himself into art, as if cooking _was_ an art to the older man. Sören liked it when people were passionate about creating things, and he very much liked it now.  
  
He didn't want to like the sight of Nicholas cooking, his own sort of performance. Heat flooded Sören.  
  
It got even worse when Nicholas bent to put the dish in the oven, and Sören found himself admiring Nicholas's ass again. Wondering what it would feel like. Fantasizing about grabbing it, squeezing it as Nicholas lay atop him...  
  
Nicholas set the timer and then their eyes met from across the room. Sören looked away, feeling ashamed, but when he looked back, Nicholas gave him a small, fond smile, and Sören smiled back, biting his lower lip.  
  
Karen's arms were around Sören as they watched the ballet, and after awhile Karen noticed Sören was looking at Nicholas again, as Nicholas worked on making dessert, and she glanced over in the kitchen too, just in time to catch Nicholas nibbling on a _lakkrístoppar_ cookie.  
  
" _Dad_ ," Karen scolded. "You'll ruin your appetite."  
  
"I assure you, my appetite is very strong," Nicholas replied.  
  
Sören's mind went right back in the gutter. _Is it now._ He wondered what Nicholas was like as a lover, if all that vitality translated in the bedroom. The mental image of his legs propped up on Nicholas's shoulders, Nicholas fucking him hard, silver chest hair glistening with sweat...  
  
 _Stop that right fucking now._ Sören swallowed.  
  
Sören had to grasp at levity. "Speaking of appetite, you have to wonder why Dr. Coppélius even made this doll." He couldn't help himself. "If this ballet had been written nowadays, Coppélia would be... one of those... Real Dolls."  
  
"Oh my _god_ , Sören." Geir leaned on him, doubling over, shaking with laughter, tearing up. "That's terrible."  
  
"You're incorrigible," Karen said, also laughing.  
  
" _Takk._ "  
  
Nicholas raised an eyebrow. "What's a Real Doll?"  
  
Karen, Geir, and Sören laughed harder. "Never mind, Dad," Geir called out.  
  
"Hm. Should I Google it?" Nicholas asked.  
  
"Oh god, Dad, no," Karen wheezed.  
  
"Yes, yes you should." Sören nodded vehemently. "You should also Google 'goatse' and -"  
  
"NO, DON'T GOOGLE THAT," Geir yelled.  
  
The Chicken Provençal was one of the best things Sören had ever eaten, served with green beans and almonds, and to accompany the _lakkrístoppar_ Nicholas had made a chocolate mousse. Over dinner and the glasses of red wine that accompanied it, Nicholas asked Sören, "How did you like the performance?"  
  
"It was gorgeous," Sören said. "I'm looking forward to hearing Geir play flute for it this spring." Sören's eyes locked with Geir's. "You were damned good in the orchestra for _The Nutcracker_. Granted, I don't know much about classical, but you were like..." Sören made a vague hand gesture, searching for the right words. "Magic. Like something not of this world entirely."  
  
"And I do know a few things about classical music," Nicholas said, "and you were indeed _very_ good."  
  
Tobias jumped on Nicholas's lap then and stood on his hind legs, front paws on the edge of the table as he peered out to see what the delicious smells were. "You have food in your dish," Nicholas said, picking up Tobias and putting him down on the floor.  
  
" _Mrrowrrrr,_ " Tobias cried insistently.  
  
Sören laughed and gave Nicholas a sympathetic look. "Poor Toby."  
  
" _His name is Tobias,_ " Nicholas gritted out, taking another sip of his wine.  
  
Sören leaned over and reached down to pet Tobias, who headbutted his hand. "Poor little Toby. No chicken for you."  
  
"If this didn't have onions and garlic I would be possibly inclined to give him a small piece, but it's not good for cats," Nicholas said. "Nor do I want to encourage him to beg."  
  
"He can't help it," Sören said. "He's just a cat, you can't expect him to have table manners like people."  
  
"That doesn't mean I should reinforce him interrupting mealtime thinking he'll get rewarded."  
  
"He'll beg anyway. Might as well give him something to distract him, is what I'm saying." Sören glanced at the kitchen cupboards. "Do you have treats?"  
  
"I have a pouch of cat treats, yes."  
  
"Can I give him one?"  
  
"May I -"  
  
Sören narrowed his eyes. "As you know, English isn't my first language." He was more amused than annoyed, though, finding Nicholas's excessive polite formality endearing.  
  
"That wasn't an excuse for my parents." Nicholas narrowed his eyes back. "Yes, you _may_ give him a treat. I shall get the cat treats, excuse me." Nicholas got up and Sören watched as he went into the kitchen, opened a cupboard near the refrigerator, and produced a pouch of cat treats. Tobias seemed to immediately know what the sound of the pouch rustling meant, getting in Nicholas's way back to the dining area, rubbing against his legs, chirping excitedly. Nicholas handed the pouch to Sören before he sat back down.  
  
Tobias trotted right over to Sören, tail high in the air, and did a jumping headbutt against Sören's thigh before sitting and waiting, purring loudly. Sören put three cat treats in his hand and lowered it, and Tobias ate out of his hand. Sören smiled, and felt a sharp ache, wishing he had a cat of his own. Remembering when he and Anthony had talked about getting a cat together, towards the end, once Sören was done with his stint of hundred-hour workweeks.  
  
Sören wished Tobias was his cat - not that he wanted to take away Nicholas's companion. He loved the little black cat with tuxedo markings and white socks, the scar on his nose, the playful mischief and affection. He gave Tobias some more pettings before putting the treat pouch on the table and returning his attention to his meal, and his smile broadened when Tobias sat on his feet under the table, purring.  
  
"You've definitely secured your title as one of his favorite people now," Nicholas said.  
  
"I hope so. He's a love."  
  
"Yes, he is. He's also a rapscallion."  
  
Every time Nicholas used that word, Sören cracked up laughing. It was so ridiculously quaint.  
  
Then Sören said, "I can't blame him for begging, really. It must smell delicious to him. It _is_ delicious." _Like you._  
  
Nicholas's eyes twinkled with the compliment, and Sören couldn't help smiling at Nicholas's little smile, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. "It was nothing, really. Very simple to put together -"  
  
"If Geir can't dismiss his talents, neither can you," Sören said, giving him a mock stern face. "You are a superb cook. You could have become a chef if you hadn't become a professor."  
  
"Well, I do enjoy it. But I enjoy preserving culture, and giving an appreciation of it to new generations, even more. It's a bit of a calling."  
  
"I get it," Sören said, nodding. "It's a calling like medicine is a calling. A very strong sense of purpose, that you're making a difference in the world somehow..."  
  
"Yes. Exactly." Their eyes held. "And I'm sure you see it yourself, as an Icelander - your culture has very strongly preserved its history and culture, and it still has a thriving culture of arts to this day, and better protections for the land and environment than places without such awareness of the past. I don't have any illusions that my teaching Classics will change the world, but perhaps it can inspire students to be part of the change they wish to see in the world." Nicholas leaned back in his chair, swirling his wine around in his glass. "I believe that things like beauty are a necessity, not a luxury. Something for all people to enjoy."  
  
"So long as they're not wearing jeans to the Royal Opera House," Geir quipped.  
  
Nicholas shot him a look and went on. "Teaching Classics, I hope to remind others of that universal human impulse, across time, across place, for beauty and splendor. That we as humans are more alike than we are different, in our need for such things that make us marvel, make us feel, make us wonder at the world we live in." Then Nicholas gave a soft chuckle. "Don't mind me. Just a foolish old man, rambling -"  
  
"No, I..." Sören bit his lower lip. "I really liked that."  
  
Anthony had a similar strong sense of purpose, as a defense barrister - defending the indefensible, so he could champion the falsely accused or those who had been thrust into a life of crime because there were too few options available to them. Anthony had hated his job, often, but it was that moral compass that had kept him there through the tough times. Sören found himself drawn to that, as his own determination to heal the sick - his mother dead of a brain aneurysm, so he had become a neurosurgeon - consumed his life, enough that he had sacrificed so much of his life for the cause. Now Nicholas seemed to be similarly driven, and it made him even more maddeningly attractive.  
  
There was a long pause and then Nicholas dished out the mousse, with the _lakkrístoppar_ on the side. The chocolate mousse was wonderfully airy, and Sören savored it, sucking the spoon. When he became aware of Nicholas watching him, Sören's cheeks burned - he imagined he looked rude. But Nicholas said nothing about it. Instead he said, "Karen, since you work at the Royal Opera House, if I give you money, would it be possible for you to procure a set of tickets for _Coppélia_ , when tickets become available for purchase?"  
  
Karen nodded. "I'll see what I can do. But -"  
  
"Yes, I said tickets, plural. As in, tickets for the three of us." Nicholas glanced over at Geir and then back at Karen. "I insist on treating this time."  
  
"If you _must._ " Karen scowled, then she grinned. "Thank you, Dad."  
  
"That's... very generous of you." Sören was touched, face on fire even more. "I mean, I can pay you back, I'm a doctor -"  
  
"It's a gift," Nicholas said. "You're part of the family now."  
  
Sören felt a little choked up, and then a lot choked up as dessert wore on. He was trying very hard to not cry, feeling stupid about it, wishing yet again he weren't so sensitive. When everyone was done eating he insisted on doing dishes, not just to be polite, but so he could try to distract himself from the onslaught of feelings.  
  
Nicholas hovered a few feet away as Sören worked at the sink, rinsing, and loaded the dishwasher, and Sören fought even harder to hold back the tears, not wanting to ugly cry in front of Nicholas, even though Nicholas had seen him crying before, just a couple weeks ago. He wondered why Nicholas was standing there watching, if maybe Nicholas thought he wouldn't do a thorough job or wouldn't be careful enough with his china. But then when Sören turned off the faucet - splashing some water on his face to try to mask the tears, and help ground himself a little - Nicholas gave a small clear of his throat.  
  
"Sören... I have something for you."  
  
"Oh!" That was unexpected, and Sören wondered if that was actually why he'd been lingering.  
  
"Yes. I shall go fetch it... wait here."  
  
Sören leaned against the kitchen counter, waiting. He glanced over at Geir and Karen, having tea. Geir shrugged and Karen gave him an innocent face, and then they looked at each other, not able to restrain their grins, and Sören gave them a mock scowl, sensing a conspiracy.  
  
Nicholas came back with a large gift bag, royal blue with a faint damask pattern. Sören wasn't used to receiving surprise gifts from people who weren't Anthony, and he didn't know what to make of it. It was already an embarrassment of riches, with Nicholas insisting to pay for them to see _Coppélia_ in May.  
  
Sören hesitantly took the bag and Nicholas stood there, watching with a neutral expression on his face as Sören reached inside. Sören felt something soft and plush. He pulled out a blue stuffed bunny, just short of two feet tall.  
  
Not just any blue bunny, but _his_ blue bunny. Bláberja. Sewn back together. Not quite entirely good as new - it was obvious that he'd been torn apart and reassembled, with stitching "scars" and a few patches. But he had a new blue ribbon around his neck.  
  
Sören gasped at the sight of him. Then his eyes met Nicholas's and there was that little smile, his dark eyes shining, soft, crinkled at the corners.  
  
Sören couldn't help what came out of his mouth next. "Daddy fixed my bunny?"  
  
Nicholas nodded solemnly. "I hope you'll forgive me for taking him. But I know how to sew, and -"  
  
The flood of tears came. Sören broke down sobbing, hugging the bunny tight, rocking him. It had been sixteen years since what happened with Einar, sixteen years of that bunny in the pillowcase, carefully hidden in a closet even when he lived with someone understanding and sympathetic like Anthony, who had a soft toy of his own. Sören had given up hope of ever getting his bunny repaired, but didn't have the heart to get rid of the only living reminder he had of his mamma.  
  
And now here he was, back together, looking somehow even cuter for wear.  
  
"Thank you," Sören choked out through his tears. "Thank you, _takk fyrir kanínuna mína, elsku yndislegi maður..._ "  
  
Nicholas chuckled and then his expression softened as Sören wept harder. "Oh."  
  
They were just a few feet apart, Sören had been so shy of hugging him, and Nicholas seemed reserved about it as well, but now they came to each other and threw their arms around each other, the bunny squished between them, and Sören made the bunny hop onto Nicholas's shoulder and put his arms around the older man's neck, Nicholas chuckling again and giving the bunny a headpat before he tousled Sören's curls. Sören's entire body tingled at his touch, and when Nicholas pulled him close, arms tightening around him, Sören felt his cock stir, wanting to express his gratitude another way.  
  
He couldn't deny it now. He was falling for Nicholas Decaux, and this was bad on multiple levels. He didn't know how awkward it would be for Karen and Geir for him to date their "dad" _and_ them, and that was presuming Nicholas was even interested - that he was even gay, for starters, though Sören had his suspicions, and that Nicholas would even think of him that way and not as some backwards, uncultured thing to be pitied.  
  
Sören felt like he was on fire, wrapped up in Nicholas's strong arms, his body against the trim, fit male body, well-preserved for his age, like one of the Greek or Roman gods he taught of. Sören was terrified that Nicholas would sense his growing arousal and would be offended by it, and yet, those arms were so assuring, so _safe and cozy_ , that Sören never wanted to leave.  
  
When they at last pulled apart, Sören was breathing harder, his face burning. Nicholas's cheeks were pink and he looked like he was breathing a little harder too, but Sören just chalked that up to the intense emotions of the moment. "Thank you, again," Sören said, his voice husky. "It... I have no words."  
  
"It's quite all right," Nicholas said. "I was happy to help."  
  
Sören brought the bunny over to Karen and Geir to show them, and they hugged him too, and took turns hugging the bunny, making him hop around. Tobias got on the couch with them and headbutted the bunny before rubbing his face on it, marking it with his scent, making Sören laugh as he stroked the cat.  
  
The rest of the time at Nicholas's passed in a blur, with Sören hugging his bunny tight, overcome with emotions at having his bunny back again, and the shock of realization that he was head over heels for Nicholas. Sören was both reluctant to leave and yet relieved when they got ready to go, needing some fresh air, needing anything other than looking at the handsome silver-haired-and-bearded man, desire so strong it almost hurt.  
  
As they got ready to go, Nicholas said, "Oh, wait, I almost forgot..."  
  
Sören's heart hammered in his ears, wondering what could possibly be next.  
  
"Your recipe for those biscuits," Nicholas said. "And your schedule, if you don't mind a visit from me on your break, or..."  
  
"I don't." Sören's stomach started doing flip-flops again. "That... that would be nice."  
  
"I can't promise that our schedules will connect, depending on when you're working and I'm working, but -"  
  
"Well, sometimes - too often, really - I work nights. So if you had an evening free and you didn't mind coming..." _Coming._ Sören wondered what Nicholas would look like, and sound like, in the throes of orgasm.  
  
Nicholas took dictation for Sören's _lakkrístoppar_ recipe, and then his schedule for the next ten days. Then Nicholas hugged Karen, and Geir in turn.  
  
"Thank you for dinner, Dad," Karen said.  
  
"Yes, thank you." Geir patted Nicholas's shoulder. "And for your encouragement with the upcoming orchestral performance."  
  
"You can do it," Nicholas said, patting him back. "Go out there and make your dad proud, hm?"  
  
And then Nicholas turned to Sören, carrying his blue bunny. They both hesitated for a moment, and then they embraced, and Sören once again felt that frisson through him, giddy and electric. Sören could smell his cologne, woodsy with a touch of rum, a deliciously masculine scent. Sören's nipples hardened against Nicholas's chest, aching for his touch.  
  
"Thank you," Sören said. "I'll see you soon, I guess."  
  
Nicholas nodded. "And you're invited for Sunday dinner if you're free -"  
  
"I work until 7 PM on Sunday," Sören said, "but I can come straight from work..."  
  
"That would be fine. I look forward to seeing you then, and maybe sooner than that."  
  
"All right. Good night, Nick."  
  
"Good night, Sören."  
  
Once they got outside in the crisp January air, Sören tossed his bunny in the air and caught it, and swung the bunny as they walked. Restraining the urge to giggle madly, like a teenager with a stupid crush.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Sören and Geir were back in Geir's room, alone. Though Sören was already aroused because of Nicholas, he and Geir didn't "get down to business" right away - they cuddled together on Geir's bed, with Sören continuing to hold Bláberja, marveling that the bunny was repaired.  
  
Geir took the bunny and pet the floppy ears, stroked the soft plush. "So your mother made this for you?"  
  
Sören nodded. "I was four. Blue is my favorite color, so..."  
  
"I can tell a lot of love went into this," Geir said.  
  
"And now it's doubly special, because Nick repaired it for me," Sören said. "I'm amazed he did that. Hell, I'm amazed he can even _sew_..."  
  
"He used to be a priest," Geir said matter-of-factly.  
  
Sören's eyes widened. " _Really._ "  
  
"He doesn't like to talk about it, and he left the priesthood within a few years, he has a pretty bitter opinion of the Catholic Church from everything I've seen, not that, again, he talks about it much, but... anyway, I'm guessing when he was resigned to living alone for the rest of his life, he decided it was a life skill he needed."  
  
"Is he still?" Sören couldn't help asking. "Alone, I mean. He doesn't seem to live with anyone, we haven't been introduced to a partner -"  
  
"He's single," Geir confirmed, nodding. "You could ask him yourself, though, you know."  
  
Sören's face was on fire yet again. He wondered if Geir knew. "Ha ha. No, he seems... private. Like that I had to ask _you_ , he didn't volunteer any of the information himself... I don't want to be rude." Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls and decided he needed to change the subject. "Even though he knows how to sew, I mean... it's really impressive that he did this for me. I feel like I need to, ah, do something nice for him." _Like a blowjob. Or five._  
  
"Well..." Geir stroked his chin, lost in thought for a moment. Then their eyes met. "Why don't you make him something?"  
  
"Like what, another batch of cookies? That doesn't seem adequate -"  
  
"No, like... art."  
  
Sören snorted.  
  
Geir gave him a stern look. "Now it's my turn to tell you you're damned good. The work I saw in your portfolio..." His breath caught. "It's exquisite."  
  
"Well, I mean." Sören bit his lip. "I want it to be a surprise, so something like a portrait of him is out, he'd have to pose for me..." _I'd want him to pose naked._ Sören's cock started to stir again.  
  
"Right, and I assume you're not going to give him a portrait of you." Geir gave Sören a pointed look, and Sören knew immediately how Geir meant that.  
  
Sören facepalmed, on fire again, giggling madly. "Oh god. No, I'm not giving him one of _those_ pictures."  
  
"Lovely as they are," Geir said. He gave a little wistful sigh. "It's too bad your ex is a douchebag, because the two of you were hot together, if I can say so."  
  
"We were," Sören said, nodding, "and that's just what you saw in the paintings. When Anthony and I made love, it was..." Sören paused, searching for the right word. "Transcendent. It felt like a religious experience, even though we weren't religious at all." And then Sören's breath hitched, feeling intensely sad thinking about Anthony again, wishing Anthony could see the restored bunny. _I hate that I still miss you, after what you did, asshole._  
  
Geir looked a little flustered, and then he regained his composure. "Maybe a portrait of Tobias."  
  
"Oh! There's an idea." Sören nodded. "I'll start working on that, ah... soon." He glanced at the time, and then at Geir. "But not tonight."  
  
"No, not tonight." Their eyes met. Geir smiled then. "I have something to give you."  
  
"Oh no. Do you now."  
  
Geir got off the bed and dropped trou, freeing his cock, which was already hard and dripping with precum. Sören greedily wrapped his lips around Geir's cock and began bobbing his head back and forth, sucking hard. Geir's fingers massaged Sören's scalp as he sucked, and Sören moaned with his mouth full, melting into Geir's touch. Geir also moaned. "God, you're good," Geir panted.  
  
"Mmmmmmmm." Their eyes met. Sören loved what he did, worshiping Geir's beautiful cock, a microcosm of the beauty of Geir himself...  
  
Geir's eyes were so blue. The same shade of blue as his bunny. His favorite shade of blue. Sören's eyes caught the bunny again and the tears came on once more, even with the distraction of Geir's cock, his hunger and desire to make love.  
  
Geir noticed and he pulled back. "What is it, love? Are you OK?"  
  
Sören shook his head, sobbing again. "I'm so sorry. I really want to do this -"  
  
Geir got back on the bed and took Sören into his arms. "We can. We will. But first, just let it out." Geir pulled Sören onto his shoulder and stroked his curls. "It's a lot, isn't it?"  
  
Sören nodded, fierce shame coursing through him. "I hate crying like this. And it's like it's proving everything right that Einar said about me -"  
  
"No, listen Sören, your uncle was a bastard." Geir pursed his lips, his brow furrowed. "The kind of abuse that you endured stays with you for a lifetime. Hell, I didn't have it nearly as bad as you, but my mother was _not_ a good mother. She was verbally abusive. Controlling in some ways, neglectful in others. Distant. Even after I became an adult she still found ways to hurt me. When I left Oslo for the UK, it was a fucking _relief_ to be away from her. All these years later, it still hurts. So I get it. I really do. You're not weak for crying. You're not weak for needing the comfort of a soft toy that helps you remember your mother." Geir stroked Sören's cheek, their eyes locked. "You have a beautiful, sensitive heart, and it's an asset to you as a physician. And a partner." Geir kissed Sören's brow. "I love you."  
  
"I love you too. I'm sorry I'm such a mess."  
  
"You're a mess, but you're a hot mess." Geir winked, and gave Sören a naughty, teasing grin. Then he kissed the top of Sören's head. "And you're my hot mess."  
  
"I'd like to, ah, make a hot mess." Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip. "I don't want you to think I didn't like sucking your cock -"  
  
"You've sucked it enough that I didn't think that." Geir smirked. "You just needed some extra reassurance. It's OK." Geir kissed the tip of Sören's nose. "That helps build intimacy."  
  
Sören nodded, thinking of the times he and Anthony had comforted each other. Laying their souls bare. How close they'd been. How that closeness, that _trust_ between them, the vulnerability, had been a potent aphrodisiac. What he had with Anthony was gone, and it was unfair to use anyone as a substitute, and it was impossible to replicate the same relationship formula exactly with someone else, anyway. But here and now, Sören felt closer to Geir. Close enough to want to surrender.  
  
"Here," Sören said, tugging on the hem of Geir's shirt. "Let's start over. You should be naked, anyway."  
  
Geir pulled the shirt up over his head; Sören admired Geir's lean, hard body. "You too," Geir said, fumbling with Sören's jeans.  
  
When they were both naked, Sören slid back towards the edge of the bed, where Geir stood at the side of the bed, and Geir groaned as Sören took the cock back into his mouth. Sören sucked more slowly this time, deliberately, eyes looking at up at Geir adoringly, worshipful. Geir smiled and stroked Sören's hair and face and beard before he closed his eyes and groaned. "Oh, Sören. Fuck..."  
  
"Mmmmmmmm." Sören kept sucking him slowly, working his tongue with his mouth full. "Mmmmhmmmm."  
  
A few minutes later Sören pulled Geir's cock out of his mouth and began to lick it with slow strokes of his tongue, from head to shaft and back up again, lapping the slit then swirling around and around the head. "So pretty," Sören husked. "This is a work of art right here."  
  
"Not one you should show Nicholas."  
  
Sören had a gigglefit. "No. I shan't. _As you know._ "  
  
"As you know." Geir laughed too. "God, we're terrible. And I really don't want to think about Dad while we're..."  
  
"Right. Sorry." And Sören once again felt that worried prickle, that it would make things very weird for Geir if he was shagging both of them.  
  
 _Not that that's even going to happen. Nick probably doesn't like me that way._  
  
That thought filled Sören with sad longing, but he was determined not to break down and cry again. He put Geir's cock back in his mouth and sucked harder, faster, throwing his all into it, re-directing that lust he felt for Nicholas. Not that he didn't lust for Geir too, watching Geir's reactions as he sucked, cock throbbing with need even as he ached at the beauty of it, Geir as perfect a specimen of male as he'd ever seen. He felt honored to be given the privilege of sucking him like this.  
  
But he wanted more. Much more. And Geir wanted more too. Geir got closer, shaking, his voice rising, and then he pulled his cock out of Sören's mouth before he could come. "I want to come inside you," Geir said.  
  
"That's good, because I really want you inside me now." Sören's eyes locked with his. "I _need_ you inside me."  
  
"Mmm, I think I know exactly what you need, too." Geir went to the bedtable, where Sören knew he kept the lube, and Sören watched as he pulled out the lube bottle from the drawer. Geir also pulled out a pair of handcuffs.  
  
Sören had been laying on his stomach as he sucked Geir's cock, and now Geir climbed on the bed and knelt over him. "Lay just like that," Geir said as he grabbed Sören's arms and put them behind his back. "If I do anything you don't want -"  
  
Sören wiggled his ass at Geir and whined. "Please."  
  
Geir chuckled, rubbed Sören's ass and gave it a playful slap. Then he locked the cuffs around Sören's wrists. Sören moaned at the tightness of the restraints, and he moaned again as he felt lube pour into him, and Geir's fingers started to work in and out of him, readying him.  
  
"So fucking hot," Geir husked, rubbing Sören's ass with one hand, fingering with the other. "I love it when you let go like this. When you give yourself to me."  
  
"Fuck me," Sören said, rocking back against Geir's fingers.  
  
Geir laughed softly and then he guided the tip of his cock to Sören's ass. For a few minutes he teased with just the tip at the entrance of his opening, then his cock sliding into the crack of Sören's ass, rubbing up and down before the tip teased the passage again. Soon Sören was whimpering, writhing against the cuffs. "Dammit, Geir..."  
  
"Oh, _all right._ " Geir gave an exaggerated sigh, making them both laugh, and then he started to push inside. They both groaned as Geir stretched and filled Sören, and moaned when Geir was in to the hilt.  
  
Geir rested in him for a moment and then he began to thrust, his hands sliding over Sören's back, tracing the firebird and waterbird tattoos with his fingers, tracing the scars, fingers playing down his spine and back up, making Sören shiver. Geir grunted deeply and Sören let out a whimper, rolling his hips back at Geir, as best as he could with his movement restricted by the cuffs. When Geir's cock stroked that sweet spot inside him, Sören cried out and Geir grunted again, knowing it.  
  
"Oh, _fuck._ " Sören shivered. "Oh god, Geir..."  
  
Geir's fingers continued to play over Sören's back, keeping a steady rhythm with his thrusts, rubbing Sören's insides deliciously. "You feel so fucking good."  
  
"So do you." Sören gave another little whimper. "Fuck me, Geir... fuck me hard."  
  
"Like that?" Geir began to thrust harder, faster.  
  
"Harder." Sören really needed to get out of his head, needed to be fucked raw. Like the way Anthony, a self-described power top (and a power bottom when he bottomed) would fuck him. "Harder, harder..."  
  
Geir went even harder, and Sören made a high-pitched noise that turned into a deep, guttural growl. " _Yes._ " Sören gasped, panting. "Oh god, yes, yes..."  
  
Being bound seemed to stitch Sören back together after falling apart, flying, burning like the phoenix on his back. There was no pain now, only passion. Only sensation, Geir's cock pounding away at that magic place inside him, exciting him, electrifying him, making him want to fuck and never stop, endless pleasure. The beast in Sören awakened, hungry, sex-crazed.  
  
Sex-crazed enough that, as much as Sören wanted Geir and was turned on by the mental image of Geir taking him from behind, working his gorgeous body as his hips slammed against Sören's ass, thick cock plunging in and out, the mental image turned to Nicholas. Sören gave in to the fantasy of Nicholas taking him just like this, what his trim body would look like unclothed, silver pelt on his chest and silver-furred arms and legs, body glistening with sweat as he fucked Sören as long as he could stand it, Sören begging _more, Daddy, more_...  
  
"Oh god." Sören gave another whimper, shuddering. "Oh fuck, I'm so close..."  
  
Geir grabbed Sören's curls, pulling hard, hammering into Sören even harder, as hard as he could fuck. Sören let out a yelp, panting "yes, yes, yes, _yes_ ," and even as he wanted Geir, hungered for him, his mind continued to play that fantasy of Nicholas plowing him, Nicholas grabbing his hair like Geir was doing now.  
  
 _Does Daddy's special boy like that?_  
  
 _Oh god, Daddy, yes, FUCK ME._  
  
"Oh god. Oh god ohgodohgodohgod..." Sören shuddered, feeling his balls tighten, the pleasure coiling and rising within him, hurtling to that point of no return. "I'm gonna come..."  
  
"Yes, Sören. Come for me."  
  
Sören let out a long, high-pitched wail and then a deep growl as his body shook, the contractions pulsing through his channel and his cock. " _Geir._ " _Nick._  
  
Three savage thrusts and then one hard slam and Geir gave a wordless shout, then a groan of "Sören. Sören..."  
  
"Oh god, Geir..." Sören shivered again, pleasure throbbing and throbbing.  
  
Geir uncuffed him, and then collapsed onto Sören's back, snuggling against him. They lay there for a few moments, Sören's face tilted to his, their noses nuzzling, and then they kissed, and Geir rolled onto his side, and Sören sat up and re-positioned himself to fall into Geir's arms, facing him, looking into those pretty blue eyes.  
  
"Thank you," Sören husked.  
  
"Thank _you._ " Geir kissed Sören's forehead.  
  
They continued cuddling, and Sören dozed off a little, then he felt Geir stretch and that woke him back up and sleepy kisses became more passionate, arms tightening around each other as their cocks, hard once more, slid together.  
  
"Another round?" Sören asked.  
  
"I think that can be managed." Geir gave Sören a lazy smile and a kiss.  
  
Sören looked down at the erotic sight of cock rubbing cock, and thought about what Nicholas's cock would look like rubbing against his. He shivered before he kissed Geir back, hard and hungry.


	3. Longing

Nicholas felt his heart race a little as he stepped through the doors of the National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery, carrying a lunch tote. He glanced around the lobby - for a Wednesday night it was still pretty busy, and Nicholas wondered if Sören would make his break on time or be a little late. Nicholas had arrived early, erring on the side of caution with travel time to get to the hospital and navigating his way to the cafe. Or that was what he told himself, anyway. It had nothing to do with anticipation of seeing Sören again, he was not in the least giddy.  
  
Nicholas's heart beat faster, stomach fluttering, face burning, as he walked into the cafe, which despite the busy lobby was quiet, with only a few people there, most of the tables empty. Nicholas didn't know if he'd get in trouble for bringing food, so he felt obligated to make a purchase, but he also felt Sören might appreciate a cup of coffee. Even though it was close to seven PM and probably a bit late in the day for himself to be drinking caffeine, Nicholas ordered a cup for himself, too. Then he sat at a table where he'd be in plain sight of the cafe and waited, trying not to glance at his watch every thirty seconds, and failing.  
  
 _You are being ridiculous._  
  
At seven o'clock exactly Nicholas took a deep breath. He knew Sören wouldn't get here right exactly at seven, and he also knew that even with scheduled breaks, there was always a chance something with a patient might run over. He also wondered if Sören would be going to his staff-only break room instead of the cafe, and once again internally chastised himself for not calling first and letting Sören know he was coming for a visit. He'd wanted to surprise Sören. Which sounded daft. _You should have made an appointment like an adult, not wanting "a surprise" like... a lovesick teenager.  
  
I am not in love with him._  
  
And then there he was. Sören was wearing light blue medical scrubs, and a navy blue long-sleeved shirt under his scrub top, presumably to hide the tattoos on his arms. His mop of dark curls was pulled into a loose, messy bun, revealing two sets of earrings in each ear, small silver studs. He looked exhausted - Nicholas knew from Sören's schedule that he'd been here since at least ten this morning, and he wasn't going home until eleven PM. And even exhausted, with his hair up like that, and in plain scrubs, he was beautiful. Sören glanced at the register, where there was no queue, and before he could make a beeline, his eyes caught Nicholas's and he grinned, his face going from weary brooding to lighting up the entire room. Lighting up the entire world. Nicholas's breath caught and he managed a small, dignified smile back.  
  
 _Oh shit, I'm in love with him._  
  
Nicholas's stomach fluttered harder, his entire body on fire as Sören walked over to his table. "Oh, you got me coffee? _Takk_ , that was very nice of you," Sören said, sitting down and pulling over the paper cup.  
  
"I didn't know how you take yours, so I went with light cream and two sugars."  
  
"I usually go for light cream and three sugars, but having stronger coffee this time will help me survive the rest of my shift." Sören gave a nervous laugh and sipped.  
  
"I brought you something else," Nicholas said, and began to unzip the lunch tote. It was insulated and the food inside was still warm, Nicholas had packed it from his own dinner, which was going in the slow cooker all day while he was at work, waiting for him when he got home.  
  
Sören's eyes widened and he gasped, and he beamed again. "You... you brought me dinner?"  
  
"I thought you could use something to eat. Apologies if you ate on an earlier break or -"  
  
"My two o'clock break wasn't really long enough," Sören said. "I would have gotten a sandwich over there or something." Sören opened up the container. "Oh, it smells delicious. What is it?"  
  
"Ratatouille. It has courgette, bell pepper, aubergine, tomato, onions, garlic and herbs, asiago cheese and goat cheese."  
  
Sören unwrapped slices of French bread. "This is so fancy, _takk._ "  
  
Nicholas chuckled. "It's not that fancy -"  
  
"Oh, _please._ " Sören glared. "Like I said, I was just planning on getting a fucking sandwich over there. I feel like I'm eating at a five-star restaurant now."  
  
Nicholas couldn't help smiling again, feeling a warm glow of pride and also a bit of fluster at Sören's sincere compliment. "Well, I hope you still feel that way once you've tried it."  
  
"You've eaten, I take it?"  
  
Nicholas nodded. "That was my dinner, I saved some for you."  
  
"That was really, really... kind." Their eyes met. "Really. It's been such a long day, and -"  
  
"A sandwich isn't really enough, when you've been working all day," Nicholas scolded.  
  
"No, but." Sören shrugged. "I don't have a lot of time or energy to cook. Once a week or so I make something in my slow cooker and have leftovers for a couple days but it gets old to eat the same thing all the time and sometimes I don't even have time or energy to throw things in a slow cooker." Sören frowned. He sipped his coffee. "I used to have a bit more motivation, too, when it wasn't just me I had to cook for, but also Anthony and he appreciated it -" Sören's voice trailed off and his frown deepened. "Let me shut up about him."  
  
"No Sören, it's OK." Nicholas ached for him, wishing there was something he could do to take away the sting of his lost love. He also felt a sharp stab of anger at anyone who would break Sören's sensitive heart. He had half a mind to march down to Lincoln's Inn Fields, find this Anthony Hewlett-Johnson, and...  
  
Sören took his first bite of ratatouille and closed his eyes in bliss, gave a little moan of happiness that made Nicholas's mind shoot straight into the gutter, wondering if this was what Sören looked like in ecstasy. Nicholas felt his cock stir, like he was a horny teenager, and he felt mortified, wanting to hide under the table. It just got worse as Sören took more bites of the ratatouille, savoring it, sucking a little on the fork. "Oh my _god._ " Their eyes met. "This is _amazing._ "  
  
"I... I'm glad. Thank you." Nicholas nodded, and reached for his coffee and sipped it. He tried to make himself look around the cafe and people-watch, not wanting to be aroused like this over Sören _eating_ , but his gaze kept wandering back to Sören enjoying the food, and every now and again Sören would smile at him and he'd smile back, another wave of heat surging through him, cock throbbing.  
  
Nicholas didn't want to be rude and interrupt Sören's meal, but when Sören had finished the ratatouille and was using the bread to sop up what was left, Nicholas tried to make conversation. "Dare I ask how work has been today?"  
  
"Work," Sören said, chuckling. He tore off a hunk of bread with his teeth and after he was done chewing, he said, "I had two surgeries today and just before my break I had a pre-surgery consult. That's not all I've done today but just that, alone, tends to wear me out. The consults are in some ways more stressful to me than the surgery itself because I'm equal parts doctor, counselor, and dad. Even something that is usually very routine and with very little risk, tends to unnerve most patients, and you have to tell them what to expect and I try to not bullshit people, I don't believe in lying to people about risks and recovery, but I also don't want to make someone panic even more, so it's a delicate balance, and there's never a script because each case reacts so differently."  
  
"I imagine that must be difficult."  
  
"I try really hard to, you know. Put people at ease while still telling the truth. I don't want someone trying to turn cartwheels after they've just had spinal surgery." Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip, which Nicholas's cock throbbed at again - something so deliciously innocent-yet-naughty when he made that face. "But I know it can be scary. Anxiety is one of the worst feelings in the world. I know it well."  
  
"It's good that you care about the people you see," Nicholas said. "That you're not just in it for the money or the prestige -"  
  
Sören shook his head. "No. When you told me that teaching is a calling for you, well... medicine is a calling for me. I told you my mamma died of a brain aneurysm just before my sixth birthday. I'm the one who found her body. So from the time I was this high," Sören gestured to halfway between his shoulder and elbow, seated. "I knew I wanted to be a doctor. A brain doctor. When I was with Anthony I observed that every person he defends is his uncle, and every person I operate on is my mamma. We're trying to save them all over again. I know it won't bring my mamma back. But every patient I have, I remind myself this is someone's parent, someone's child, someone's partner, someone's friend. So I try, really hard, to do what I can to give them more time, so the people in their life don't go through the hell that I went through without my mamma." Sören frowned and bit into more bread, looking almost angry as he chewed, which would have been comical if Nicholas didn't feel an ache for the orphaned boy inside Sören, and knowing _what_ had taken him in. Sören's aunt and uncle sounded like monsters.  
  
"I'm sorry," Sören said. "I always feel like I'm such a downer. Talking about my ex all the time, and now this..."  
  
"No, it's... it's all right." Nicholas nodded. "That's what friends are for. And truth be told..." Nicholas didn't like to get into his background much, he'd barely scratched the surface with Geir and Karen - it was a wonder he'd even told them he was gay - but something about Sören's own vulnerability made him feel like it was safe to share. That maybe, for once, it might be good to share with someone, taking his own advice. "I didn't have a good relationship with my parents. My grandparents, yes - I used to vacation in France every summer as a boy, and I _adored_ my _grand-mère_. I also got on well with my father's brother, and my cousins on that side - I was close to my cousin Marie, who I still am in touch with from time to time, she's lived quite the colorful life... anyway... I was also bullied in school. And I escaped, I got out of my head, through books. I was quite 'a nerd' -" He made air quotes. "With my love of literature and history. Later in life, when I became disillusioned with the Roman Catholic Church and its corruption and I left the priesthood within a few years, I sort of went on a crusade, I guess you could call it, to show the world what Rome had been like pre-Christianity. When I teach my students, I suppose I'm not just trying to preserve history in and of itself, but I'm also reaching out to that bookish boy who needed to go somewhere else in his mind. And it seems that a number of my students are themselves socially awkward, misfits in some way - it takes a certain personality type to dedicate oneself to that field of study, I suppose." Nicholas felt his brow furrowed. "I'm rambling, my apologies."  
  
"Hi Rambling My Apologies -"  
  
Nicholas gave Sören a look, but then Sören grinned, disarming him. Sören reached across the table and patted Nicholas's arm. "You're fine. And, as someone who was picked on myself as a kid... thank you."  
  
"You get the need to escape," Nicholas said.  
  
Sören nodded. "For me it was art. If I hadn't gone into medicine - and I came very close - I would have become a full-time artist."  
  
"You know... I really would like to see your art sometime." Nicholas was genuinely curious.  
  
"Sometime." Sören bit his lower lip again, cheeks turning pink, and he looked down.  
  
"Did I say something wrong?"  
  
Sören shook his head. "I still get nervous about showing people my art, even though I've had a few art shows and some people liked my work enough to buy prints, and Anthony gave it high praise. I guess it's because, like." Their eyes met. "It's like showing a piece of my soul, almost."  
  
"All the more reason why I'd like to see it."  
  
Sören nodded, looking away. "You like Pre-Raphaelites, já? Like Rossetti?"  
  
"Yes, as you know I have prints of some of Rossetti's work in my home..."  
  
Sören gave a shy little smile. "He was a major influence on me. Not that I try to be exactly like him, there's something..." Sören made a vague hand gesture. "Something more. But..."  
  
"But his influence is there, even as you're not trying to be derivative. Yes, I think I get it. I would indeed very much like to see your work."  
  
"I'll think about it."  
  
"Please do."  
  
Sören sipped his coffee and leaned back in his chair. "I get inspired by nature. Places I've been in Iceland, England. Or places I've seen in my imagination, like dreams... There's a little bit of magic in my work, like a lot of my people still believe in the _huldufólk_ and I'm not religious at all, but sometimes I can _feel_ something about a place..." Sören made another vague hand gesture and then he rubbed his beard, frowning. "Sorry, that sounds daft."  
  
"The ancient Romans had a sense of the _numen_ or _genius_. It's not that daft."  
  
"Also some of my work is trying to preserve memories. Feelings." Their eyes met. "Life isn't just about finding a calling, your place in this world, but all of the little moments, the little wonders of being alive."  
  
That was incredibly deep for a thirty-year-old. _Young enough to be your son, stop looking at him like that._ "Yes."  
  
"Riding the waves of emotions." Sören's hand curved up and down. Then he chuckled and sipped his coffee. "Now I'm rambling."  
  
"You're not." Nicholas felt captivated not just by Sören's physical beauty, but the beauty of who he was inside. And Sören seemed to absolutely glow when he talked about his work. "It's something meaningful to you."  
  
Sören nodded. "I wish I had more time for it, but..." He gestured to his scrubs. "This is the life I chose. It's not that art isn't important, though."  
  
"No. I've said it before, but beauty isn't a luxury, it's a necessity. Medicine heals the body... art heals the spirit. When we look at something someone else created, and it resonates with us, it's powerful. Things other people created _kept me alive_ during the dark, melancholy, turbulent time of my teens and twenties." Nicholas felt self-conscious then - it was one thing to admit he'd had unhappiness in his past, it was another thing to confess just how awful it had been.  
  
And yet there it was, and there was no judgment from Sören, only compassion in those sweet brown eyes. "Everyone says that time is the best of your life but it really wasn't," Sören said, with a knowing look over his coffee. "You couldn't fucking _pay me_ to be a teenager or in my early twenties again. Fuck that shit."  
  
"Yes, indeed." Nicholas wasn't one for much swearing but with Sören it was strangely endearing rather than vulgar.  
  
 _Yes, you truly have it bad for him._  
  
"Well, ah, thank you again, for the food and the coffee," Sören said, handing the fork and empty container back to Nicholas. "You are an outstanding cook."  
  
"You're quite welcome." And then Nicholas felt a small twinge of sadness. "Do you have to go back already?"  
  
"No." Their eyes met. "Actually... do you want to go for a little walk with me? Sometimes I like to get some air on my break..."  
  
"Yes, I... would like that." Nicholas felt another happy flutter; if he were a dog his tail would be wagging. He was on fire again, painfully aware of how ridiculous he was being, and he was trying very hard to modulate his reactions, not wanting Sören to see how over-eager he was for just a little more time.  
  
After Sören retrieved his coat, Nicholas followed Sören outside into the brisk January night. It was a short walk to Queen's Square, which was picturesque with the snow on the ground and ice crystals on the bare trees, sparkling under the streetlights. There were also very few people around at this hour so it was nice and quiet, peaceful as they walked together in the night.  
  
"I hope I'm not boring you," Sören said, his breath steaming the air. "Or wearing you out. I know you work too..."  
  
Nicholas snorted. "I'm a professor, Sören. I'm likely not on my feet nearly as much as you. And despite my age, I do go for walks, I garden, I practice Tai Chi..."  
  
"I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to sound like _you're too old for walks_ or anything. And I mean, you're in great shape..." Sören's voice trailed off and he bit his lower lip.  
  
Nicholas's cheeks burned and his heart skipped a beat. "I try to stay healthy." _Yes, even though Sören likes men, that doesn't mean anything, it doesn't mean he was "checking you out", as the kids say. You needn't get your hopes up._  
  
"I feel like I should work out or something, but I have asthma and I'm on my feet constantly."  
  
Nicholas felt like being assuring and telling him _your body is fine_ , but he knew Sören probably meant it in the context of health - being a doctor, and all - and not in the context of vanity. And he worried that even a simple _your body is fine_ would be taken the wrong way, or that he would slip and say _your body is lovely_. His mind recalled the memory of Sören taking off his shirt, showing the tattoos on his back - and those pierced nipples. Never did Nicholas Decaux think he would ever find tattoos and piercings attractive - he'd had more than a few students with obvious tattoos or piercings and he tended to think they were ridiculous, but on Sören it was art. His body modifications were exotic. Enchanting.  
  
The thought of Sören's pierced nipples sent a shiver down Nicholas's spine, and he fought back the fantasy of pulling on the piercings, tugging on them with his teeth, making Sören gasp, crying out as his tongue laved the swollen, sensitive little nub...  
  
 _Stop that at once._  
  
"You probably get enough physical activity at the hospital," Nicholas said, "but if you ever had time and wanted to do a Tai Chi lesson with me..."  
  
"Oh." Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip. "Well, I don't know how to do Tai Chi..."  
  
"You'd have a set of repetitive movements. You could probably learn the beginner's set quite easily."  
  
"I'll think about it. It depends on my time and whether or not I just want to be a potato." Sören chuckled. "I'm always so fucking worn out. But walking in fresh air like this is nice."  
  
"Walking is good for the body and mind. Sometimes I walk not just for the physical health benefits but to relax."  
  
"So I'm not... annoying you, or anything?"  
  
Their eyes met again. "No Sören, not at all."  
  
"I feel like I'm no fun to be around." Sören shrugged.  
  
Nicholas paused in his tracks. "Who told you that? This Anthony you were with -"  
  
"His friends." Sören pursed his lips.  
  
"And why did he let his 'friends' talk to you like that?" Nicholas made air quotes again.  
  
"Well, he tried to have a few words with them, but." Sören folded his arms. "He stopped going anywhere with them for my sake and then he felt hurt that I was too tired to go anywhere when I was, you know, working a hundred hours a week."  
  
"That sounds selfish on his part."  
  
"The thing is, he normally wasn't." Sören frowned. "I probably should change the subject. I'm being a downer again."  
  
A few snowflakes were starting to fall, and Nicholas had the sudden wild urge to take Sören into his arms and kiss him passionately. But Nicholas didn't feel like that would be acceptable behavior, so he just put his hand on Sören's shoulder instead. Even that was playing with fire, electricity coursing through him, his cock starting again.  
  
"Sören, all of us have problems... pain in our past. We may not be a traditional family, you, Karen, Geir and myself, but we are a family nonetheless." _And I want to be incestuous with you._ Nicholas thought about the way Sören called him "Daddy", and his mind played a fantasy of Sören writhing underneath him, panting _yes, Daddy, yes_... Nicholas swallowed hard and went on. "We all understand, one way or another, what it's like to be out there in the cold. And how good it is to gather around the fire of companionship. And trust. I lived a rather solitary life before I met Karen and Geir. I certainly wasn't ascetic, I had my little creature comforts, worldly pleasures... but it was still like being a priest again, in a way. I understand loneliness and pain and thinking that you're too 'serious' or this or that for other people. But you're not. I wouldn't have come here to see you if I thought you were insufferable to be around." And once again, Nicholas felt it was safe to confess to him. "Part of why I've lived such a solitary life is I myself have found I'm... not exactly everyone's cup of tea."  
  
"Awwww." Sören gave him a sympathetic look. "Just because you're, well, so formal?"  
  
"And reserved. I was nicknamed the 'Iceman' in seminary."  
  
"Awwwwww." Now it was Sören's turn to put a hand on his shoulder, and the touch went straight to Nicholas's cock. He hoped Sören didn't hear the little gasp that escaped him. "Well..." Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip. "I come from the land of the ice and snow."  
  
"From the midnight sun, where the hot springs flow."  
  
Sören threw back his head and laughed. Nicholas smiled; he loved the way Sören laughed. Then Sören raised an eyebrow. "You... you know Led Zeppelin?"  
  
"I don't listen to entirely classical music, you know. I do enjoy a bit of hard rock and metal. People often look down on that genre but really, metal is a lot more complex than many give credit for, and many of the musicians in the genre were classically trained."  
  
Sören nodded. Then he said, "I get banned permanently from Scandinavia if I don't like metal. It's the law."  
  
Nicholas knew he was joking, and he laughed, and Sören did too, then he said, "My mamma was a big fan of Led Zeppelin. And I really like prog rock, prog metal like, ah, Rush, Dream Theater, Tool, Deftones..."  
  
"Deftones is a bit too much screaming for me."  
  
"I'm surprised you've even given it a try."  
  
"If there was less screaming I'd enjoy it more... the drummer has some very interesting time signatures. But no, I'm at that age where I can't tolerate screaming vocalists as much." Nicholas smiled. "Do you like Metallica?"  
  
"I fucking love Metallica." Sören threw the horns, and Nicholas threw them back.  
  
"I like a lot of different things," Sören said as they continued walking. "I'm not just pansexual, I'm pan... whatever... music is. Or maybe it's more like polyamory."  
  
"Polyamory is wrong," Nicholas said.  
  
Sören stopped and glared at him, folding his arms. "Excuse me?"  
  
But it was the lead in to a joke, even though Nicholas felt a little nervous - not wanting to cause offense - and also flustered; Sören looked so damn _attractive_ when he made that grumpy face. "The word mixes Greek and Latin. It should be multiamory or polyphilia."  
  
Sören leaned on Nicholas, laughing so hard he wheezed. "Oh my _god._ That's... that's terrible."  
  
"Thank you." Nicholas took a dramatic bow.  
  
"I'm sorry, I didn't... realize you were about to make a joke." Sören continued giggling.  
  
"As you know, I am a Classics professor. I'm surprised you didn't realize it was going to be a joke."  
  
"Well, you know." Sören shrugged. " _As you know_ , it isn't the mainstream, polygamy isn't even legal, as it is I haven't told any of my co-workers I see different people even though they know I'm queer. I..." Sören raised an eyebrow. "I take it you don't disapprove, then."  
  
"I came of age in the late 1960s when a great many people were practicing 'free love'. I did not, as an aspiring priest, but as an historian, the Greeks and Romans were not exactly strictly monogamous and I don't make it a point to judge what consenting adults do." Nicholas thought about telling Sören then that he was gay, but he hesitated. He didn't want Sören to think he had been one of _those_ priests, and he wasn't ready to get into that discussion - that it had been one of _those_ priests that had prompted his exodus from Catholicism and from faith entirely - here and now.  
  
He also didn't want to end up confessing that he had a bit of a crush on Sören, either, and he feared "I'm gay" would be followed by "and you're very cute." And he feared rejection, and everything that would come after - awkwardness and tension with Karen and Geir. Losing his family.  
  
He was hoping he'd just get over it, that eventually his brain would understand the foolishness of this infatuation. Until then...  
  
"Well, thank you." Sören nodded. "It's... it's nice to not have to hide who I am and be myself."  
  
" _The most common form of despair is not being who you are._ "  
  
Sören's eyes lit up. "Kierkegaard."  
  
"Ah, so you've read him."  
  
"I was named for him. Well, and my maternal great-grandfather. But yes." Sören nodded. "Like I said, I'm not religious at all, but I found his writings strangely comforting when I had my dark night in med school. Someone else _got_ that kind of melancholy." He raised his eyebrows at Nicholas and said, "Yes, underneath all my joking around is -"  
  
"No. I know." Their eyes held. "I wouldn't have thought Karen or Geir would be interested if you were shallow."  
  
"I like to make people laugh," Sören said, "because everyone is going through something. I joke with my patients, if I think they can handle it. Like yesterday I showed someone imaging of their tumor and they asked what the blue meant and I said 'it's a boy'."  
  
Nicholas facepalmed and chuckled. "Now _that's_ terrible."  
  
"It got worse. I named it. His name is Slarg."  
  
"What kind of name is Slarg."  
  
"Something you would name a tumor. I mean, it shouldn't have a proper name like... Thomas or William. It needs to sound like a monster or a troll or something."  
  
That just made Nicholas like Sören even more. _Not like, love._  
  
Nicholas sighed.  
  
Then Sören had a look of panic on his face. "Oh shit, what time is it?"  
  
Nicholas pulled up his sleeve and checked his watch. "Quarter to eight."  
  
"Oh fuck, I gotta start heading back."  
  
 _No..._ Nicholas knew that Sören would have to go back to work, of course, but he couldn't help but feel a little pang of disappointment, wishing they had more time. "Shall I walk you?"  
  
"OK."  
  
Nicholas and Sören marched back to the National and lingered outside the entrance, even though the snow was coming down harder.  
  
"Thank you, again, _so much_ -"  
  
"It was my pleasure." Nicholas nodded. "And I enjoyed your company."  
  
"I liked spending time with you, too." Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip.  
  
Nicholas fought that urge to kiss him once again. "Just to double check your schedule..." He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, where he'd made a copy of the notes.  
  
"Tomorrow I go in at three PM and work until one AM, and then on Friday the twenty-third I go in at one PM and work until eleven PM. My scheduled break for tomorrow is nine PM and my scheduled break for Friday is seven PM."  
  
"Tomorrow I'm having Geir and Karen over for dinner," Nicholas said with a small, apologetic smile. "Unless you'd like us all to come by -"  
  
"Well, nine PM is probably cutting it a bit close for you if you have school in the morning. But if you wanted to swing by on Friday... not that I'm trying to pressure you to cook for me or anything..."  
  
"I wouldn't have asked you about your schedule over the next few days if I didn't want to bring you dinner again." Nicholas smiled. "Shall I come by on Friday at seven, then?"  
  
"Please." Sören smiled. Then he gave a little sigh. "OK, I have to go in now and..."  
  
"I understand."  
  
Sören still hesitated, and then he rushed up to Nicholas and threw his arms around him, giving him a tight squeeze. "Thanks, Daddy," Sören whispered, and met his eyes, patting his cheek before he sauntered off.  
  
Nicholas's entire body tingled on the way home, his cock aching for relief, wishing the hug had been something more. Skin on skin. Wanting to crush Sören's mouth to his and kiss him deeply, madly.  
  
It _hurt_ , to want someone so badly, that he knew he probably couldn't have, _shouldn't_ have. And yet, he could not help wanting. Longing.  
  
Once he got back to his flat, after he fed Tobias, washed the dishes from the meal he brought Sören, changed into pajamas, brushed his teeth and got into bed, he lay there thinking about Sören. Those pretty brown eyes, soulful, long-lashed. Those soft, full lips. The brilliant, even white teeth, the radiant smile that felt like lighting a fire. The musical laugh. His compassion, his depth. The way Sören felt in his arms, lithe and sleek.  
  
He was hard again, and now he found himself reaching down his black silk pajama bottoms, hand gripping his hard cock, stroking. He was already slick with precum, which made the gliding motions easier. His mind raced with fantasies of kissing and caressing Sören's body, Sören's naked body against his, holding each other and kissing passionately as their cocks slid together, as Sören's channel fit around him the way his fist tightened around his cock now. Pretending the up-and-down motion of his hand was him pistoning in and out of the younger man, harder, faster, thrusting his hips as he worked himself. Picturing Sören bucking underneath him, crying out _Daddy, Daddy, more, Daddy, more..._  
  
Nicholas gave into a violent climax, toes curling, not able to help the cry that escaped him as his seed spilled, then the moan of "Sören. _Sören_..."  
  
"Mrowr?" Tobias hopped on the bed.  
  
Nicholas quickly reached for the box of tissues next to the bed, wiped up the mess he'd made, grateful that he was under the covers, even though Tobias was just a cat and Tobias thought nothing of cleaning himself certain places in front of other people, it was still strange whenever the cat saw parts of him. Before Nicholas tossed the tissues in the nearby wastebasket, he got the strange urge to smell the evidence of his release, and then he tasted the last dripping bit of it from his fingers, thinking about Sören tasting it... and what it would be like to taste Sören.  
  
 _I can't be thinking like that. As it is, I crossed a line tonight._  
  
But it had been a very pleasurable crossing. He hadn't masturbated in years. He thought it was just a side effect of growing older, but Sören made him feel like a randy young man. And though it was nice to feel a bit younger, his face burned with shame - not the Catholic guilt that had kept him celibate before the AIDS crisis kept him celibate - but feeling like he was putting everything at risk.  
  
 _Maybe I shouldn't see him on Friday._ But that thought hurt even worse.  
  
Nicholas sighed, and let himself rest in the post-orgasmic lazy calm. Tobias climbed on him, purring and kneading. Soon enough, he went to sleep.


	4. Desire

This time Sören was the one waiting in the cafe when Nicholas arrived on Friday the twenty-third at seven. Sören bit his lip as he saw Nicholas walk in, dapper in his trenchcoat and fedora, carrying the blue lunch tote he'd brought Wednesday evening. Nicholas gave him a small smile and a wave with his free hand. "Salutations," he called out. Then the smile got a little bigger when he saw Sören had coffee for the both of them.  
  
"My treat this time," Sören said.  
  
"Ah, thank you. That was very kind of you." Nicholas took off his hat and his trenchcoat, neatly folding the coat on the chair and pushing the hat off to the side. He handed the lunch tote to Sören and sat; Sören pushed coffee over to him.  
  
"Two sugars and only light cream, right?" Sören asked.  
  
Nicholas nodded. Then he glanced over at Sören's cup. "Yours has whipped cream on it."  
  
"It's a chocolate espresso." Sören took a sip of his coffee. "It's my favorite."  
  
"My apologies. If I'd known I wouldn't have gotten you an americano the other night -"  
  
Sören waved his hand dismissively. "It was coffee I didn't have to pay for, and a surprise. It wasn't terrible." Sören laughed. "The coffee in the break room isn't always spectacular, depending on who makes it."  
  
"Well, here." Nicholas unzipped the lunch tote. "I hope you'll find this just as spectacular as the ratatouille."  
  
"God." Sören was still impressed by the ratatouille. "You spoil me."  
  
Sören unpacked the lunch tote and opened the containers. As usual there was a bit of crusty French bread, sliced, buttered, and still warm. One of the containers had soup, which looked a bit like homemade French onion soup, and the other container had...  
  
"Risotto with sage, butternut squash and Italian sausage." Nicholas seemed proud of himself.  
  
Sören started with the soup - just the soup alone was magnificent, rich and flavorful. When Sören took his first bite of the risotto he made a high-pitched noise and stamped his feet, waving his spoon like a conductor. "Oh my fucking _god_ ," he said with his mouth full, and then he clapped his hand over his mouth.  
  
 _Smooth. Real smooth. Dead sexy right there. Not that you'd ever stand a chance with this guy anyway..._  
  
Nicholas smiled, turning pink, and Sören wondered if the reaction was making the reserved "Iceman" uncomfortable. "Sorry," Sören said. "It's just. So good." He crammed another mouthful in, and it felt like his mouth was singing. He closed his eyes in rapture. "MMMMMMMMMMMMM."  
  
There were only seven other people in the cafe tonight, and when Sören opened his eyes again he saw they were all staring now. Sören ended up snorting, embarrassed but also amused that he had suddenly become the center of attention. "Hi," Sören said, giving a little wave, flashing a grin.  
  
Nicholas chuckled.  
  
"I'm sorry," Sören said. "But." He shoveled in more food, and then chewed more slowly, savoring. "Fuck," he laughed before another spoonful.  
  
"It's quite all right." Nicholas was very pink now, his dark eyes shining. "I'm just glad you enjoy it."  
  
"Where in the _hell_ did you learn to cook like this?" Sören asked. "I get it that you learned how to sew when you thought you'd be spending your life alone as a priest, but..."  
  
"I learned how to cook from my _grand-mère_. As you know, I was very close to her." Nicholas smiled fondly, his eyes distant and wistful. Then their eyes met again. "When I was a priest, naturally I had to put that skill to use as a bachelor, cooking for myself. And I felt at the time though vice was a sin, the Lord gave us the bounty of the Earth to enjoy and there was no sin in good food. So I practiced my skill. It gave me something to do. In fact, for a time I would feed needy people under my roof in the rectory, I felt they deserved something better, tastier and more nutritious, than soup kitchen fare."  
  
Sören heard himself sigh, and hoped Nicholas didn't hear it. That kind of compassion for others went right to Sören's heart. He wondered why Nicholas had left the priesthood - Sören had a sneaking suspicion Nicholas might be gay and the Church's position on LGBT people might have been why - but he also didn't want to ask here in a semi-public place, nor did he want to hit a nerve if it was still a sore subject decades later.  
  
"I do take joy in cooking for others," Nicholas said. "Especially someone such as yourself, where you put yourself out there for long hours, taking care of others, and likely not practicing enough self-care."  
  
"Yeah, no," Sören said, nodding. "This still wasn't as bad as when I was working a hundred hours a week."  
  
"I cannot even begin to imagine what that must be like."  
  
"Hell," Sören said. "I was microsleeping, it got to the point where I missed my stop on the Tube one day and was over an hour late getting home. Anthony took me for a weekend to Brighton and I ended up sleeping all weekend because I just crashed. I got sick with the flu even though I had a flu shot because I was that run-fucking-down and..." He took another bite of the delicious food, wanting the wonderful taste and smell sensations to drive away the memories. "Anyway." Sören shook his head, and then he pointed at the risotto with his fork. "This is fucking amazing." Sören kicked Nicholas under the table. " _You_ are fucking amazing, for being thoughtful enough to bring this to me."  
  
Nicholas chuckled, turning pink again. Sören thought it was adorable, especially the goofy grin when he laughed, that Nicholas tried so hard to mask with a smaller smile. He wanted to kiss Nicholas's nose.  
  
 _That's not all I want to kiss._ He took another bite of the risotto instead.  
  
"So, you like the sausage?" Nicholas asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
Sören almost spat his risotto, his mind going immediately into the gutter. His face was on fire now, and as much as he tried to contain his laughter he couldn't, shaking with it. It took Nicholas a minute and then he facepalmed.  
  
"Oh god." Sören wheezed. "I'm sorry. I-"  
  
Nicholas shook his head, still facepalming, and waved with his other hand. When Nicholas pulled his hand away from his face he was bright red, eyes sparkling and crinkled at the corners. "Er."  
  
"Er." Sören wanted to crawl under the table, melt into the floor tiles, and die.  
  
"I meant in the -"  
  
"I know what you meant." Sören bit his lip. "Yes, _as you know_ , I like the sausage."  
  
Nicholas gave him a stern look and then a little, amused smile. "Well, that's good, because -"  
  
For a split second Sören expected Nicholas to come out with _I'm gay_ , but of course Nicholas did not, following with "I'm going to be making a cassoulet on Sunday night when you come for dinner, using up what I have left of that sausage."  
  
 _So you'll have sausage for when I come? MMMMMMMMMM._ Sören bit back the response, kicking himself for hoping Nicholas was gay and interested. _Mr. Shan't-Wear-Jeans-To-The-Ballet Guy wouldn't be interested in someone like_ you, _even if he is gay, and Karen and Geir would probably think it was weird._ "I'm looking forward to it," Sören said.  
  
Nicholas let Sören finish his meal in companionable silence, with Sören savoring every last bite. When the meal was over he used the French bread to sop up the dregs of onion soup, and then as he worked on his espresso, Nicholas asked, "How has work been today?" Nicholas frowned as he added, "You look exhausted."  
  
"I feel exhausted. I had a brain surgery today, removing a tumor -"  
  
"Slarg?"  
  
Sören giggled, pleased that he remembered. "No, not Slarg. Slarg is on February third." Sören went on, "The surgery started as soon as I scrubbed in at one, and I _just_ finished ten minutes before break."  
  
Nicholas's eyebrows went up and his eyes widened. " _Merde._ "  
  
Sören threw his head back and laughed.  
  
"Pardon me," Nicholas said, pink again. "I normally don't swear -"  
  
"No, shit is about right," Sören said, nodding. Nicholas normally not being the type to swear made the reaction even funnier to him. "Here's the scary thing - that's not even the longest surgery I've ever performed."  
  
"I'm afraid to ask."  
  
"Twenty hours, but I rotated breaks with other surgeons, I wasn't doing it by myself."  
  
Nicholas's jaw dropped and a strangled noise came out of his mouth.  
  
"Slarg is going to be pretty complicated," Sören said, calmly sipping his espresso. "Probably at least twelve hours."  
  
" _Mon Dieu._ "  
  
"I have the day after Slarg off," Sören said. "I have my new schedule for the first through the fourteenth, I'll give it to you on Sunday after I've copied it down."  
  
"Oh, you don't have it written down already?"  
  
Sören snorted again. "Surgery. Break."  
  
"Apologies." Nicholas rolled his eyes. "I should have realized that. I think my brain is still reeling from the shock that you once performed surgery for twenty hours."  
  
"And eighteen hours. And fourteen. And sixteen. And twelve -"  
  
Nicholas shook his head. "I don't know how you do it."  
  
Sören shook his cup of coffee, and knocked back the rest of it. Then Sören passed the empty food containers and used utensils back over to Nicholas, watching him put them away in the tote. "Want to go for a walk again?"  
  
"Yes, I'd like that," Nicholas said, nodding.  
  
Nicholas put his trenchcoat and fedora back on, and waited outside the locker room while Sören grabbed his own outerwear. Then they walked together to Queen's Square, with Sören looking up at the night sky and occasionally stealing glances at Nicholas, heart beating a little faster. Sören resisted the urge to take Nicholas's hand in his.  
  
"So, ah... how has your week been?" Sören asked. He felt painfully shy - though he had a good bedside manner with his patients, it was another thing entirely to make casual small talk. It was never a skill he'd mastered.  
  
"Not bad." Nicholas gave a small nod. "I do wonder how some of my students advanced as far as they did, making obvious grammatical mistakes in their writing. But then, they have enough enthusiasm for the subject that I suppose I can't judge them too harshly."  
  
"Yes, it's good that the young people this day and age are even interested in studying Classics at all."  
  
"Indeed. Nonetheless, it still gets frustrating, particularly when someone has made the same mistake several times over."  
  
"Maybe they're doing it to be a troll."  
  
Nicholas raised an eyebrow. "You _would_ say that."  
  
"I admit, I like the reaction I get out of you when I call your cat Toby." Sören chuckled. "But also, Tobias is such a serious name for a little cat."  
  
"He's a cat. Not a human. He doesn't care what his name is."  
  
Sören laughed harder. "If you say so."  
  
"This sounds almost personal for you." Nicholas looked over and cocked his head to one side.  
  
"Yes and no?" Sören took a deep breath. "At the risk of bringing him up again... my ex Anthony -"  
  
"What, are you objecting to the fact that he doesn't go by Tony?"  
  
"No, even though I liked teasing him with the name from time to time. No, I was going to say... Anthony is actually his middle name. His given name is Cornelius."  
  
" _Is it now._ " Nicholas seemed fascinated by that.  
  
"I love his mother to death, but who the fuck looks at a tiny baby and thinks 'Cornelius'? His mother was... an interesting lady. Is, I mean, she's not dead." Sören felt a sharp pang, missing Elaine, who was like the mother he'd never had. "It's bad enough he has that double-barrel surname. His entire name, Cornelius Anthony Hewlett-Johnson, that is so over the top I just can't even."  
  
"Can't even what."  
  
"I... can't even. No what. That's it. That's all of it, can't even. It's... a saying. On the Internet."  
  
"I am not on the Internet much," Nicholas said, frowning with what looked like disapproval. Sören swallowed hard, finding it sexy. "I have even fewer reasons to be on the Internet now."  
  
Sören cackled, not able to help it. "Oh, Nick. The world isn't gonna end because some people use intentionally bad grammar. 'Can't even' by itself makes sense when... well... you can't even. When something has broken your brain so much that you don't know how to answer _can't even what._ "  
  
Nicholas pinched the bridge of his nose.  
  
"Are you trying to think of how to answer that?" Sören asked.  
  
Nicholas nodded, looking pained.  
  
"So you can't even at my use of can't even?" Sören couldn't resist.  
  
Nicholas glared, and Sören howled.  
  
They paused at a bench near St. George's Cathedral and sat, taking it all in. There was a moment of silence as they watched the picturesque church capped with snow, and more snow falling. "That's lovely," Sören said finally.  
  
"Yes, it is." Nicholas nodded. "It's strange - I still feel uncomfortable around church buildings, all these years later, but at the same time I admire the architecture, and often, the history of the place."  
  
"Churches here are so different than in Iceland," Sören said. "Our churches are simpler design except for the more famous ones. Like the Akureyrarkirkja, in my hometown. _Gorgeous_ structure, inside and out." He sighed, feeling a twinge of homesickness.  
  
More silence passed, snow continuing to fall, and Nicholas finally asked, "Sören, may I ask you a question? And please don't take offense -"  
  
Sören's heart skipped a beat, hoping Nicholas was going to ask him on a date. Of course he knew he was foolish to have that hope. But...  
  
"Why do you call me Nick instead of Nicholas? Nobody calls me that." Nicholas raised an eyebrow again and somehow looked stern and amused all at once.  
  
"Well, to be honest, the first time it just slipped out. I felt really shy around you..." _Because you're so fucking hot. And I am stupid, STUPID for wondering if that question was going to be you asking me on a date._ "So it was a nervous slip. But it just... kind of stuck, I guess. I think I call you Nick precisely because nobody calls you that. It's so _serious_ to go by Nicholas all the time. Anthony was very serious too, at least his public persona, all suave and sophisticated." Sören realized after he said that, that it was close to an admission that he was regarding Nicholas in the same light - as a suitor or potential suitor. Nobody could replace Anthony, but nature abhors a vacuum and Nicholas was coming close to filling that screaming void.  
  
"I see."  
  
"If you absolutely hate it, I'll stop -"  
  
"No, I didn't say that." Nicholas gave him a small, fond smile. "You're right that I probably do need to lighten up a little. It's just..."  
  
"What, you can't even?"  
  
Nicholas glared and Sören grinned, and then Nicholas rolled his eyes and chuckled. He went on, "Nicholas is actually not my given name, just like Anthony was not your ex's given name."  
  
"...Oh." _That_ was a strange coincidence, and Sören felt a frisson down his spine. "So what, are you guys like, secret brothers?"  
  
Nicholas's eyebrows went up and he tutted like he was grading a paper. Then Nicholas went on, "In my case it's not my middle name, either. I took the name Nicholas as a priest, after the original Saint Nicholas -"  
  
"...So you named yourself after Santa Claus?"  
  
Nicholas facepalmed. Sören giggled, and Nicholas gave a deep groan and then he chuckled, too. "You're bloody impossible, you know," Nicholas said.  
  
"I know."  
  
"The _original_ Saint Nicholas had nothing to do with the North Pole, or toys, or elves. There are a few contradictory accounts of him. One was that he rescued three girls from being forced into prostitution. One was that he calmed a storm at sea, one was that he saved three soldiers from wrongful execution. Another was that he resurrected three children. Nobody really knows for sure, very little was known about his historical life, except scholars tend to agree he was generous to the poor, and _that_ was why I took the name. It became my legal name. When I left the Church behind, I kept the name rather than reverting to my given name, as I'd gotten used to being called 'Nicholas' and it was just easier. And it was a reminder that even as I left the Church behind, I still had a calling, a duty, to share what I can with others. Knowledge. Culture. Comfort. To enrich people's lives."  
  
"That's beautiful," Sören said softly. Then he asked, "You seem to know a lot about etymology and things... do you know what Nicholas means?"  
  
"'Victory of the people'."  
  
"That sounds kind of Communist."  
  
Nicholas laughed, a full-bodied belly laugh that delighted Sören. "It does, doesn't it?"  
  
"Well, I'm a socialist, so, you know."  
  
Nicholas extended his hand. "Hello, A Socialist. I'm Nicholas."  
  
Sören gigglesnorted. He wasn't expecting Nicholas to make a dad joke. "Hey, that's my line!" But Sören took his hand and shook anyway, feeling a frisson down his spine, cock stirring.  
  
"I myself am rather left-leaning," Nicholas said. "Always have been. In the late 1960s, when I came of age, I became a priest because I thought Jesus was the ultimate radical."  
  
"Something happened."  
  
"Something happened," Nicholas said, nodding. "I don't want to ruin the blithe spirit of the evening by going into that story. Let me just say that I am not entirely proud to have been a part of the Roman Catholic Church and I have strong opinions about its... corruption. Let's go with that for now."  
  
"OK, so we'll change the subject." Sören was very curious now. "What is your given name, if you don't mind me asking?"  
  
Nicholas let out a deep sigh. "Jean-Luc."  
  
Sören almost fell off the bench. He leaned on Nicholas - even as he sort of regretted the way it sent electricity through his entire body - snorting and wheezing, tearing up. "That's... engaging."  
  
Nicholas narrowed his eyes. "Do. Not. Do _not._ That's an _order._ "  
  
"Aye sir, I will... make it so."  
  
Nicholas glared again, and then his eyes softened, crinkling at the corners, and his lips quirked. "I shall send you to the brig if you keep it up. And you shan't get any toys for Christmas, either."  
  
"So what do I get instead, a switch?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
It came out before Sören could stop himself. "That's not exactly a deterrent, you know."  
  
It took a moment to register, and then Nicholas's eyebrows shot up, his eyes widened, and he turned beetroot. "Er."  
  
"Sorry. Sorry, I have no brain-to-mouth filter sometimes, especially when I'm tired." Sören wanted to crawl under the bench, realizing how much that was obvious flirting - the thought of "Daddy" spanking him was almost too delicious to bear, Sören's cock throbbing as heat rose within him. _And of course he's not interested._  
  
"And you have more hours to go on your shift, yes?"  
  
Sören wasn't surprised he was changing the subject, and supposed he should have been relieved that Nicholas wasn't taking offense. Sören nodded solemnly. "I go home at eleven if things don't run overtime."  
  
"I would offer to accompany you home but that's a bit late for me even when I don't have school in the morrow."  
  
"I also wouldn't expect you to hang out here for four hours and like I said, there's a chance I might run overtime and make that even later."  
  
"I assume that my usual Saturday breakfast with Karen at the Silver Swallow would be too early for you."  
  
"How early are we talking about?"  
  
"Eight AM."  
  
"Oof, yeah, no, unfortunately. I'd love to go with you guys sometime but it has to be when I'm not working late on a Friday, so getting up early on Saturday is less painful. I run myself into the ground enough."  
  
"I understand." Though Nicholas looked almost disappointed, and Sören wondered about that. He was relieved his off-color joke hadn't scared the older man away.  
  
They got up and walked some more, pausing here and there to admire the beauty of the snowy gardens, the trees adorned with icicles, like an enchanted winter realm. Once again Sören felt an ache at the romantic scenery, wishing he could take Nicholas's hand, put an arm around him, share a kiss.  
  
They paused to look up at the night sky itself. "When I was little, my brother Dag and I had a nightly ritual of going outside before bed and saying goodnight to the moon and stars," Sören said.  
  
"That's adorable."  
  
"Dag's an astrophysicist now."  
  
"Oh, my. Do you speak to him often?"  
  
"No." Sören shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Things have been awkward since our sister was murdered. And..." Sören took a deep breath. "He came out to give a presentation at Oxbridge while I was still with Anthony and got to meet him and Dag privately expressed concerns about a few things and he gave me the 'I told you so' speech when we broke up."  
  
"Oh dear."  
  
Sören sighed. "We still talk, but it's." He made a vague hand gesture. "I wouldn't say we're close." Sören looked back up at the sky and sighed. "But when I look up at the sky at night, I think about him. I wonder how he's doing, what he's been up to."  
  
"Where does he live now, in Iceland still?"  
  
Sören shook his head. "He teaches at the University of Toronto."  
  
"Ah, a fellow academic."  
  
"Yes. You'd probably like him."  
  
"So, with your brother being an astrophysicist, is it something you read up on yourself?"  
  
Sören shrugged. "I watched the original _Cosmos_ with Carl Sagan, and the reboot with Neil DeGrasse Tyson - who's a friend of my brother's, actually, they wrote a book together... but my interest is only casual, really. My brother's a _theoretical_ astrophysicist, so he's all about... string theory and... equations and shit and that just makes my eyes glaze over. Operating on people's brains and spines is complicated enough for me. _But_ , my brother is a proponent of the idea that there isn't just life on other planets, but there's alternate universes. Like this is one Earth in a series of infinite Earths, some with smaller, more subtle changes, some with much larger differences. I find _that_ fascinating."  
  
"Hmmm, indeed. And the 'what ifs' of such places." Nicholas scowled. "I hope there's not an alternate universe where I'm still a priest."  
  
Sören didn't like that thought either, getting the sense that part of Nicholas's past was painful, so he grasped at levity. "It's more likely there's an alternate universe where you're in command of a Starfleet ship or even a starbase, telling your officers to make it so, drinking Earl Grey, hot."  
  
Nicholas glared, and Sören gave him an innocent face, and then they both laughed. "Terrible," Nicholas said.  
  
" _Takk._ "  
  
After that little break, they turned around and headed back in the direction of the hospital, taking a shortcut through a park. Though the city of London did a good job of keeping the sidewalks in the area clear, and Sören's Doc Martens had good tread, designed to be non-slip, it was dark and Sören didn't see the patch of ice that he stepped onto until he started sliding; Nicholas grabbed him just before he could fall.  
  
Sören's heart was racing now, and not just from the panic of the near-fall, which could have been bad, but the feeling of Nicholas's strong arms around him, hanging on even after he'd steadied Sören upright.  
  
"There," Nicholas said. "I've got you."  
  
 _You've got me, all right._ " _Takk._ I... I didn't see -"  
  
"I know." Nicholas gently maneuvered them out of the way, and Sören had the wild feeling of never wanting Nicholas to let him go. The panic of the near-fall was replaced by feeling absolutely safe in Nicholas's arms, like nothing bad could ever touch him so long as Nicholas was holding him, as Nicholas was close to him just like this, like a living shield wall.  
  
Then he let go of Sören, who was still breathing harder, body tingling, and it was all Sören could do not to mutter _"God dammit"_ aloud, already aching for Nicholas to hold him again.  
  
Nicholas was flushed and looked a little winded himself. Their eyes met and Nicholas's mouth was slightly open and for a split second Sören wondered - hoped - that Nicholas would kiss him. But then Nicholas gave him a small smile, a tightness around his eyes that made Sören wonder if he was uncomfortable at all, _maybe he's picked up on me being into him and he's not OK with that_ , but Sören wasn't going to say anything to try to find out.  
  
The rest of the walk to the National was in silence, and back at the hospital they lingered again, and finally Sören stepped forward to initiate a hug, even as it was painful for him to feel Nicholas's body against his and _want_ , he was also soothed, comforted by the embrace, feeling safe in his arms. Nicholas patted him.  
  
"I hope the rest of your evening goes smoothly," Nicholas said.  
  
" _Takk_ , me too. And _takk_ again for dinner, and the walk -"  
  
"I enjoy your company, Sören. This is a nice diversion from being at home, alone."  
  
The thought of Nicholas eating alone night after night, year after year filled Sören with an indescribable sadness. He'd read Nicholas as someone who was too serious and needed to lighten up and laugh more, but now Sören felt like it had become his mission in life to make Nicholas Decaux happy. Whether or not they were ever more than just friends - and Sören felt foolish for hoping for more - he felt Nicholas was a good man and deserved good things. Realizing that Nicholas was willing to come to the National and bring him dinner as an escape from his own loneliness... Sören's eyes burned with tears, that he fought back, not wanting to cry.  
  
"Well, I'll see you on Sunday, já?" Sören swallowed hard.  
  
Nicholas nodded. "You said you're coming at seven?"  
  
"Straight from work. I'd normally stop at Karen and Geir's first but that's already late enough that I might as well just come right over. I'll bring a change of clothes with me so I'm not in my germy scrubs at your table."  
  
Nicholas chuckled. "You may use my washer and dryer to launder your scrubs if you like."  
  
"Oh, really? That would be convenient, but I don't want to waste your electricity -"  
  
Nicholas waved his hand dismissively. "I wouldn't have offered if I thought it was a problem. If it makes you feel better I'll throw in the cat bedding -"  
  
"All right." And then, on impulse, Sören hugged him again. " _Takk._ You're very kind to me."  
  
"And you yourself are very kind." Nicholas's arms tightened around him for a moment. When they pulled apart, Nicholas looked into his eyes and said, "You've got a good heart, Sören."  
  
 _It's yours if you want it._ Sören patted his shoulder. "I gotta go scrub in." That wasn't entirely a lie, but Sören's cock was also standing at attention under his coat and Sören didn't want Nicholas to notice and get weirded out. "Um, have a good rest of the evening."  
  
"Good night, Sören." Nicholas waved as he was off.  
  
"Good night, Daddy."  
  
After Sören stopped in the coatroom, he dashed into the restroom as fast as he could, relieved that he was alone, not wanting his co-workers to see the hard-on in his scrub pants. As Sören ran the water and washed his hands, he tried to will the hard-on away, playing mental images of the most unappealing things he could think of. A trick he'd learned from an English tourist in Reykjavik that he'd fucked years ago was to picture Margaret Thatcher nude, and he did that now. _Margaret Thatcher. Margaret Thatcher..._  
  
But not even that was working. His mind kept interrupting with mental images of Nicholas holding him, their naked bodies together, hard cocks rubbing together, kissing feverishly. After a few glances around to make absolutely sure he was alone, Sören reached for his hard cock and stroked it, needing to take care of this before other people saw him. He let his fantasies go wild, conjuring a delicious one of his legs on Nicholas's shoulders, their bodies glistening with sweat, his hands sliding over Nicholas's body where he could reach, feeling the silver pelt, looking into Nicholas's dark eyes and seeing lust, hearing him grunt and groan as he thrust. In and out, harder and harder, Sören's seed in Nicholas's chest hair just before Nicholas came deep inside him, moaning...  
  
Sören's knees buckled as he had a fast, furious climax, doubling over the sink. "Daddy. Daddy. _Daddy!_ "  
  
  
_  
  
  
Sören was relieved to be getting out on time at eleven, and as much as he hated that he lived close to Lincoln's Inn Fields, this was one of the times when he _was_ grateful for the short distance home from the National. He felt just about ready to drop when he got in.  
  
After a shower and changing into a T-shirt and plaid flannel pajama bottoms, he made himself a cup of lavender chamomile tea to try to relax. Though he'd had a sexual release in the bathroom after his break, he started thinking of Nicholas again... wanting him... and found himself hardening back up when he sat.  
  
"Fuck," Sören grumbled.  
  
Then his cell phone went off.  
  
Sören wasn't used to people calling at this hour. He wasn't used to most people being awake at this hour, even on a Friday night - Anthony was one of the exceptions, who was frequently a night owl when he had a complicated case. As Sören reached for his cell phone he had the mad fear that it was Anthony calling, because he was just horny enough that he might not be able to say no if Anthony wanted to "talk".  
  
Sören gave a little sigh of relief when he saw Karen's number, and swiped to accept. "Karen, hi! Are you OK?"  
  
Karen laughed softly. "Yeah, I'm OK, Sören."  
  
"You-you're awake."  
  
"Well, I knew you were getting off work and I hadn't talked to you in a few days. I miss you."  
  
"Awwwwwwww, _elskan_ , I miss you too." Sören's cheeks flushed and he bit his lower lip. He felt himself starting to preen, twisting a curly lock around his finger. "I'm looking forward to seeing you on Sunday."  
  
"Mmmm, me too. I've been thinking about you."  
  
"Awwwwww. Have you?"  
  
"Mmmmmm. That's why I called." Karen's voice was husky. "I wish you were here right now." She gave a soft moan.  
  
Sören put two and two together. "Karen, are you... are you touching yourself right now?"  
  
There was a soft wet suctioning noise, and now it was Sören's turn to moan, his cock standing up painfully, throbbing. "Fuck," Sören said.  
  
Karen laughed. "Told you I was thinking about you. Getting wet for you."  
  
"Oh, my god." Sören's face was on fire, and his cock was raging. "Do you... do you want me to come over..."  
  
"You've had a long day, Sören, you need to rest. I thought maybe you could, um... talk to me."  
  
"You mean talk dirty to you."  
  
"Mmmmhmmm."  
  
"You naughty girl," Sören said, chuckling, impressed.  
  
"Mmmmmmmm. You're pretty naughty yourself, though."  
  
"I try." Sören laughed again. "So, uh... what are you wearing?"  
  
They both laughed at how cheesy and cliched that was, but then Karen obliged him. "Cream silk pajamas. You know the ones. The top buttons."  
  
"Nothing underneath?"  
  
"No."  
  
Sören's breath hitched. "Start unbuttoning your pajama top."  
  
"OK. All the way?"  
  
"All the way, _elskan._ "  
  
Sören heard Karen breathing a little harder, and Sören's free hand was on the hard bulge in his pajama pants, rubbing slowly.  
  
Then Karen said, "It's unbuttoned now."  
  
"Mmmmmm. And your breasts are showing?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"If I was there right now, I'd kiss your neck, all the way down to your stomach, nibble on your navel, and then kiss back up, to between your breasts. Then I'd rub my tongue around and around a nipple, before teasing it, sucking on it..." Sören reached down his pajama pants, his mind playing the fantasy, and he began to stroke his cock, slowly. "Wet your fingers and play with a nipple. Rub it with your fingers. Pinch it. Pull on it. Pretend it's my tongue, my lips."  
  
"Oh god, Sören." Karen moaned. "Mmmmmm..."  
  
"Now do the other one. And keep going back and forth between them. You know I like to spend a long time there, worshiping them, how beautiful you are. Make your nipples hard and swollen from my lips and my tongue, sucking on them harder and harder the bigger they get..."  
  
Karen's breath hitched and she moaned again. "Sören..."  
  
"So beautiful." Sören closed his eyes, really getting into it, cock throbbing and twinging as his mind's eye showed him Karen's perfect breasts, his mouth teasing the hard nipples as she clutched at him, arching, panting, thighs soaked with her dripping juices. "I could suck on your nipples for hours, _elskan._ "  
  
"God, that sounds so sexy in your accent."  
  
Sören smiled. "Every now and again I'd kiss up your neck and whisper in your ear, tell you how gorgeous you are, how I can't get enough of your body, want to savor you..."  
  
"Fuck."  
  
"But... after awhile I'd want to taste that sweet pussy. Kiss my way down to your stomach again, lick your stomach... slide your fingers down, caress yourself, think of my tongue on your skin..."  
  
" _Sören._ " Karen gasped.  
  
"Then I'd kiss down one thigh to the back of your knee, kiss and lick and nibble, down, then up... keep caressing yourself, stroke your thigh, pretend it's me..."  
  
"Mmmmmm."  
  
"And over to the other one. Kissing, licking... teasing. I can see how wet you are, your inner thighs glistening, and I lick the juices from your thighs... so sweet. So delicious... I need more." Sören's cock was out and in his hand now. "Touch yourself, Karen. Play with that pussy, rub your clit for me, think of my tongue on you, lashing away."  
  
"Oh god."  
  
"Let me hear how wet you are."  
  
The wet suctioning sound was louder this time, and Sören groaned, cock twinging and letting out a little gush of precum. "My cock is dripping for you, too, Karen."  
  
"Oh, Sören." Karen moaned and started panting. She gave a little whimper that made Sören sigh. "Oh god, Sören, fuck..."  
  
"That's it, _elskan._ Tease that clit for me. Think about my tongue, the way I'd be licking you so hard and fast, sipping at your delicious juices, my cock aching with how much I want you, want to take you, want to fuck you hard, but I want to please you first, take care of you..."  
  
"Oh god. Ohgodohgod. Sören. _Sören._ " Karen whimpered again. "Guhhh..."  
  
"Are you getting close, _elskan_?"  
  
"Yes..."  
  
"Rub that pussy harder. Faster. Fuck yourself with your fingers. Let me hear how bad you want it, how much you want my tongue, want me to eat you the way I'm starving for it..."  
  
"Oh _god._ Sören." Karen giggled. "Your accent is going to be the death of me -"  
  
"Keep rubbing. Harder. Play with it. Mmmm, I love eating you. Your pussy tastes so good, I'm licking my lips, loving it, sucking on your clit, slurping on your juices..."  
  
Karen moaned, and whined, and then she was panting, gasping, and Sören could hear the sound of her wetness. Sören groaned, and made himself stroke his own cock slower, not wanting to come just yet.  
  
"I put my tongue inside you, wanting even more of your sweet juices. Finger yourself, Karen..."  
  
The sound of her wetness got louder, and Sören had to stop stroking himself altogether to not come right then. He thought about the sight of her fingering herself, juices dripping, her fingers slick, her nipples hard, the look of ecstasy on her face as she moaned. Sören bit his lip and growled, _hungry_.  
  
"Now my tongue is on your clit again. Rub that clit some more, rub it hard..."  
  
"Sören. I'm so close..." Karen whimpered. "Oh god, Sören, please..."  
  
Sören smiled, knowing how to undo her completely. " _Komdu fyrir mig, elskan. Ég vil að fallega kisa þín komi hart. Komdu, elskan..._ "  
  
There was a moment of the deliciously filthy wetness, and then Karen screamed, " _Sören_!" She gave a shuddery gasp, then made a high-pitched noise that became a deep, guttural growl. "Sören. Oh god Sören..."  
  
"Yes, _elskan._ " Sören's breath caught, his cock throbbing urgently, but he didn't reach down to stroke himself. "Good girl."  
  
"Mmmmmmmm." Karen sighed deeply. "Oh, _yes._ Thank you. Thank you..." She sighed again.  
  
"Good?"  
  
"Yes." Karen giggled. "I still like the real thing better, but..."  
  
"Soon." Sören chuckled. "Sunday. You can ride my face."  
  
"You're on." Then Karen yawned. "Shit."  
  
"You should get some rest, _elskan._ "  
  
"Says you. You should get some sleep too." Karen sighed. "I shouldn't keep you." She yawned again.  
  
"It's all right. I'm glad you called. I like the sound of your voice." Sören couldn't resist adding, "And other things."  
  
"Mmmhmmm. That was fun. We should do that again. Next time you come too."  
  
"OK." Sören laughed. "I love you."  
  
"I love you too." Karen yawned, and then had a gigglefit, her laughter throaty from sleepiness. "Sleep well, Sören."  
  
"You too."  
  
The call ended and Sören sat there with his hard cock out, and the phone in his hand, staring in disbelief. _I just had phone sex with Karen Swanson._ He would have never, back in 2009, imagined the young barrister was so wild, so highly sexed. On the other hand, he never would have assumed that of Anthony, either.  
  
 _Anthony._ Sören closed his eyes, cringing, cock throbbing at the thought of his ex, aching for his touch still, even now, after everything that happened. Anthony knew his body better than anyone, knew how to make him go off like a rocket, turn him into a quivering pile of jelly, whimpering, and Anthony reveled in that power over him. There were few things sexier to Sören than that smug, "I won" look on Anthony's face when he was wearing Sören's cum.  
  
He had deleted Anthony's number from his contacts after his weekend with Van Apollyon back in November, and that was just as well because Sören would be too tempted to speed dial it now, too tempted to let Anthony walk back into his life, and he would not, would not, _would not_ , his pride still stung. He could, of course, look up Anthony's cell on the website of his chambers, but...  
  
Sören pinched the bridge of his nose and facepalmed, sighing. Then he looked at the cup of tea on his coffee table. "Shit," he said, and picked up the tea, which was now at a drinkable temperature, and just chugged it.  
  
He put the cup in the sink - he could deal with dishes tomorrow - and hit the lights and walked off to his bedroom, still with his erect cock hanging out. He laughed at the sight of it, realizing how ridiculous he looked to be walking around his flat with his cock exposed. Then he flomped onto the bed. He had to take care of this.  
  
He stroked himself, recalling the conversation with Karen. His mind playing the luscious mental images of Karen touching herself, rubbing her clit in hard, fast circles, fingers working in and out of herself, juices dripping. Karen's hard nipples, his tongue on them. Licking her swollen clit, sucking on it, sipping, slurping on her juices. Kissing her passionately as he took her hard, as she bucked underneath him, matching his rhythm. As she rolled him onto his back and rode him, her breasts bouncing, and he rose up to embrace her, to pull a taut nipple into his hungry mouth...  
  
Suddenly the mental image changed from Karen to Anthony. Anthony riding him, taking Sören's cock, moaning, Sören pleasuring his nipples, sucking on one as he played with the other. Anthony coming all over Sören, completely lost in orgasmic bliss, moaning. Anthony licking and sucking the mess of his seed from Sören's chest, especially Sören's nipples, tugging the rings with his teeth. Taking Sören hard, one of Sören's legs on his shoulder. Then taking Sören from behind, kissing and licking the back of his neck, his shoulder, biting him in the sweet spot where the neck and shoulder met, giving Sören's ass a hard slap. _"You're mine."_  
  
Sören reached in the bedtable for the glass dildo that he'd used countless times since he and Anthony broke up, where Anthony was still the star of his fantasies, hating himself for still wanting him, still loving him. Sören lubed up and began toying himself, working the dildo in and out of his channel with one hand, stroking his cock with the other. Picturing Anthony fucking him, remembering the way Anthony's cock felt inside him, how Anthony's body had felt on his. He closed his eyes and he could _smell_ Anthony's cologne, even as long as it had been...  
  
And then he was thinking of Nicholas. Those dark eyes, locking intensely with his as Nicholas took him, took his ass like he owned it, their hips slapping together. "Oh god," Sören moaned, writhing, thrashing around, finding himself rocking his hips as he stroked his cock harder, faster, fucked himself harder with the dildo. "Oh god, Nick. Nick. Daddy... fuck me, Daddy..."  
  
 _"Does my special boy like that?"_ Nicholas kissing his nipples, fingers and thumb rubbing one as he licked and sucked the other. _"Such a good boy."_  
  
Sören bit his lip and whimpered. He could hear himself panting, gasping for breath as he played with himself feverishly, breaking out into a sweat, consumed by wild, primal frenzy. "Daddy... Daddy..."  
  
Riding Nicholas, hands running over Nicholas's body, feeling that silver fur on his fingertips and palms, feeling the _maleness_ of him. Nicholas's hands caressing him, one hand stroking his cock as the other teased over Sören's body. _"That's a good boy."_  
  
"Daddy, Daddy..."  
  
Now he was picturing Nicholas taking him from behind, arms wrapped around him - holding him tight, holding him so safe - their hips slamming together, Nicholas kissing the back of his neck. Sören bucking against him, completely lost in his need. "More, Daddy, more..." So shameless, so wanton, _begging_ this way, wanting it so bad... "Daddy! _Daddy!_ More, Daddy, more, oh Daddy... Daddy..."  
  
Sören was getting close, balls tightening, the pleasure of his cock and that sweet spot inside him building to fever pitch. "More, more," he panted. "More, more, _moremoremore_ Daddy, Daddy, _Daddydaddydaddy_ don't ever fucking stop..."  
  
Sören climaxed, letting out a sob as an arc of his seed spurted and hit the quilt. He spent all over his fingers, and he gasped, shaking as his hole pulsed, each contraction flooding him with bliss and relief.  
  
He rolled over and started to cry into his pillow, feeling ashamed that he was having these thoughts about Nicholas, who probably wasn't interested in him at all, and where it would probably, one way or the other, fuck everything up with Karen and Geir.  
  
 _I have a knack of falling for guys completely unsuitable for me._ He thought of Anthony, and how their different backgrounds had eventually driven a wedge between them, amplified by Sören's schedule. And he and Nicholas were even more different - he and Anthony at least were both millennials and had similar tastes and interests and cultural references. _He likes visiting you on your break, that doesn't mean you guys would be good together long-term._  
  
And yet, the way Sören had felt so safe when Nicholas's arms were around him, breaking his fall...  
  
"Dammit." Sören sighed, and put the dildo on the bedtable; he'd clean it tomorrow, it was Pyrex so it could go in the dishwasher with his dishes. He facepalmed and groaned, shaking his head. "Fuck my life."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re Sören's comment of _It's more likely there's an alternate universe where you're in command of a Starfleet ship or even a starbase, telling your officers to make it so, drinking Earl Grey, hot._ \- [well](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23507422)...


	5. Dreamer

Nicholas was already at The Raven's Roost when Karen arrived on Saturday morning. She beamed brightly at him and Nicholas raised a hand in greeting and gave a small smile in return, then he got up and pulled out a chair for her.  
  
"Thank you," Karen said, taking off her coat and draping it on the back of her chair before she sat down.  
  
"I took the liberty of ordering our usual so it should be ready any moment," Nicholas said. "I hope you don't mind."  
  
"I don't, thank you." Karen reached over and patted his hand, and Nicholas gave her a fond chuckle, pushing himself to put his other hand on her arm, which did not come naturally to him. Sometimes he wished he were less reserved with touch - even now, after having known Karen for close to a year, and thinking of her as being like a surrogate daughter, he was not as touchy-feely as she was, and he felt a little guilty about it. His parents were not warm with him growing up, and his time as a priest had restrained him even further. Touch was something he was still learning.  
  
And aching for. He thought of Sören and closed his eyes, trying not to sigh.  
  
"How are you?" Karen asked.  
  
 _Oh, the usual. Smitten with your boyfriend like a hopeless idiot._ "I'm well, Karen. And how are you this wintry morning?" He noticed Karen was wearing a heavier sweater. "Is your flat warm enough? As you know, I have some extra blankets in my linen closet if you need them -"  
  
Karen waved her hand and shook her head dismissively, laughing. "You sound like a mother hen, Dad."  
  
"Er. I didn't mean to be overbearing." Nicholas felt self-conscious. "But as you know, at my age we're a bit more sensitive to the cold, and doubly so with my arthritis..." His voice trailed off. _I have become one of those old people who complains about his arthritis. Huzzah._  
  
"It's OK, Dad. But no, really, Geir and I are fine. If that changes, I'll take you up on the offer of borrowing blankets. As far as how I'm doing beyond the cold... I can't really complain. School is good, work is good. I wish Sören worked less crazy hours and I could see him more often, but I also knew that going in, so it's not a dealbreaker, just inconvenient." Karen poured herself coffee from the pot on the table. "Sorry -"  
  
"No, it's all right, dear. You miss him. That's only natural." _I miss him too._ Nicholas watched Karen fix her coffee and then it was his turn to refill his own cup, trying to distract himself from thinking about the younger man, but the heat of the coffee made him think about how warm Sören felt in his arms, and he found himself saying, "You know, I've seen him this past week."  
  
"Oh, you have?" Karen sat back in her chair and sipped her coffee, looking at him over her cup, intrigue on her face.  
  
"I went in to see him on his break. I brought him dinner."  
  
"That was very nice of you, Dad. And I'm sure he appreciates it since he doesn't really get to cook for himself with those hours, poor thing, he's always having to get takeaway or ready-to-eat-meals or sandwiches at work..."  
  
"Mmm, indeed. As you know, proper food is important, especially with the hours he puts in, he needs adequate nutrition..." _There I go, sounding like a mother hen again._ Nicholas gave a nervous chuckle into his coffee. "But also, I enjoy his company."  
  
"He's very lovable, isn't he?"  
  
"Indeed he is." Nicholas's face burned. _Too lovable._ And then Nicholas felt the stupid grin on his face and heard himself sigh, like a lovestruck teenager, and he could have smacked himself. He hoped Karen didn't notice that. He gulped coffee, face even more on fire, and glanced over at her. Karen's expression was neutral, and she was looking around at the books out this morning, as if he hadn't said or done anything out of the ordinary.  
  
But he found himself going on about it, not able to stop himself. "After he eats the meal I bring him, we go for a little walk around Queen's Square, and talk about things. And banter, I suppose. As you know, he's got a sharp wit."  
  
"Good," Karen said, meeting his eyes. Nicholas felt like crawling under the table, even though he knew at his height he wouldn't really fit. "I'm glad the two of you are getting to know each other and become good friends."  
  
"Yes. He's..." Nicholas swallowed hard and worked on his coffee some more, hoping the motions would deflect from her noticing his body language, that stupid grin again, the way his face was burning. "He's become very dear to me."  
  
Karen smiled a cryptic little Mona Lisa smile, and nodded.  
  
And then it was time for breakfast. Nicholas had never in his life been more relieved to see a plate of toast.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Karen and Geir were scheduled to arrive for Sunday night dinner by six, and usually they were a little early, with it being a short walk from their place to Nicholas's flat. By the time it was five of, Nicholas found himself pacing, getting a little worried that they hadn't shown up yet.  
  
His anxiety, of course, was on an amplifier, giddy at the prospect of seeing Sören again, worried about making a false move. Nicholas was wearing his usual black - a sweater today, and wool trousers - but unlike his usual, he added a touch of cologne, something he didn't often wear when he was just at home. It was a woodsy, clean smell with a touch of tobacco and rum, masculine. He splashed on just enough so Sören would smell it if he was in close proximity but not so much to be overpowering. Even this, however, made him feel like an idiot, like he was trying to impress a man young enough to be his son who he didn't even have the courage to state his feelings to, and where it would doubtless cause all sorts of complications if he did. And he felt he was too old to be feeling _giddy_ , the curious mix of being tied up in knots and aflutter at the same time, heat coursing through him at the mere thought of Sören Sigurðsson. His mind kept replaying the conversation with Karen at The Raven's Roost before their breakfast came, self-conscious at how much he'd mentioned Sören, the little tells that he hoped she hadn't noticed.  
  
When Nicholas's cell phone rang, he jumped, which normally didn't happen, but he was so absorbed in his own thoughts that it startled him. Nicholas pulled the phone out of his pocket and saw Karen's number. He felt his eyes widen with surprise and then his heart skipped a beat, hoping everything was OK. "Karen, hello. Is everything all right?"  
  
"Yes, Dad." Karen chuckled. "I'm just calling to let you know Geir and I are running a little late. We'll probably be there around seven-thirty or quarter till eight, I hope you don't mind terribly -"  
  
"Oh." Nicholas felt a little twinge of disappointment... followed by a frisson of excitement. _I get to be alone with Sören for a half-hour._ "Oh no, Karen, I don't mind, I was just getting a little worried since, as you know, you and Geir are usually early -"  
  
"Yes, usually we are, but we went shopping this afternoon and took a bit of a detour. Oops!" Karen laughed.  
  
"All right. Well, dinner should be ready by the time you arrive, and thank you for letting me know you'll be late..."  
  
"No problem, Dad. Didn't want you to worry too much."  
  
"As you know, Sören is coming at seven..."  
  
"Yes, you'll have to... keep him entertained." There was what sounded like a snicker from Geir in the background. "All right, Dad, we have to run. We'll see you in awhile!"  
  
"Take care."  
  
Nicholas let out a little sigh as the call ended. Now his frisson of excitement at being alone with Sören for a little while turned to anxiety. The fear returning of saying or doing the wrong thing, giving a bad impression.  
  
Tobias rubbed against Nicholas's legs then, tail high in the air. "Prr-rowwwr?"  
  
It was a little early for him to feed Tobias, but the cat had finished his food from that morning. Nicholas put the empty plate in the sink, opened a can of cat food and proceeded to walk to the mat on the floor where he usually placed Tobias's food, with Tobias meowing and circling his legs, getting in his way. "Tobias, I need to go there... Tobias, _please._ You impossible feline."  
  
At last Tobias stepped aside, and let out a plaintive wail as Nicholas stooped to set down the food. His knees and hips twinged - he was really starting to hate bending and squatting the last couple of years - and then he chuckled fondly as Tobias dug in, and he walked over to the oven to check the cassoulet, even though the timer would go off when it was done. The kitchen already smelled delightful, and the smell got more intense as he opened up the oven. He smiled, pleased with his handiwork.  
  
 _I hope Sören likes it._  
  
Nicholas almost slammed the oven door shut, irritated with that being his immediate thought. _Would you get a hold of yourself and stop_ obsessing _over him._ Followed by, _Besides, he hasn't complained about the food yet._  
  
Nicholas needed something to pass the time, and he decided to read, curling up on the couch with a blanket and hot tea and a well-worn copy of _Wuthering Heights_ , something he hadn't re-read in a good couple of years, Tobias eventually came over, licking his chops, satisfied from a good meal, and paused for a moment to lick his paws and rub his face, before he hopped up on the couch and settled next to Nicholas. Nicholas kept one hand on the purring cat, stroking, and the other on the book, every so often letting go of Tobias to turn the page, which made Tobias look up and glare as if to say _why did you stop petting me, human?_ before Nicholas resumed petting the cat, smiling at the way the cat smiled.  
  
As Nicholas read, his mind started to draw comparisons between Heathcliff and Sören. Sören was nothing like Heathcliff, apart from being dark and brooding, a troubled past. Sören was warm and kind and...  
  
 _Oh please, stop that._  
  
And yet, there was something in Sören, a quiet intensity, that suggested to Nicholas he probably had a filthy temper. Nicholas wondered what Sören would look like angry, would sound like yelling... and he found his cock stirring at that, all the more when he wondered if Sören and this Anthony had ever had angry sex, aggressive sex, rough with each other...  
  
 _Stop that at once._  
  
Nicholas closed the book, put it down on the coffee table, pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a deep sigh. He sipped his tea, and there was a loud knock at the door. Nicholas looked at the time and saw it was three past seven.  
  
Sören was standing on the other side of the door, carrying a shopping bag that presumably had a change of clothes in it. He had his coat draped over one arm, and Nicholas noticed he was wearing his usual light blue scrubs with a navy blue long-sleeved turtleneck, and his hair was in a loose, messy bun. Sören looked very tired, but he gave Nicholas a big smile that lit up his entire face, eyes crinkling, and Nicholas couldn't help but smile in return.  
  
"Sören. Salutations." Nicholas's heart was beating faster. "Do come in."  
  
" _Takk_ ," Sören said, and stepped across the threshold as Nicholas stepped aside, taking off his coat and boots by the door. Tobias's eyes opened, and Tobias stood up on the couch, stretching and yawning, before he hopped off and trotted right over to Sören, tail in the air. "Oh Toby, I would pet you but I have to wash my hands, I'm all germy from work."  
  
Sören marched right over to the sink and began to scrub his hands while Nicholas watched, and Nicholas realized Sören had very nice hands. _He has very nice everything._  
  
 _Well, I haven't seen everything._ And then Nicholas wondered what Sören looked like naked, and his face was on fire again, trying to bat away that curiosity.  
  
"Not to be rude, but where's your, ah, washing machine? I want to get out of these scrubs right away and not get germs all over your flat."  
  
"You're not being rude, Sören, that's very considerate of you." When Sören was finished scrubbing his hands, Nicholas gestured for him to follow. "Right this way."  
  
The pantry was a short walk from the kitchen and living area, and just before the stairwell leading up to the bedrooms. The linen closet was across the hall from the pantry. It was a tight space, really only big enough for one person at a time. In anticipation of Sören's visit and Sören's insistence that he didn't want to waste Nicholas's water, Nicholas had one of Tobias's cat beds and a couple of mats used for Tobias's food and water waiting on top of the washing machine, ready to go in. Nicholas put them in while Sören watched, and then came out of the pantry and gave the "go ahead" gesture.  
  
"OK. Let me... get changed, and then I'll throw my scrubs in the wash," Sören said.  
  
Nicholas expected Sören to head back down the hall to the downstairs bathroom, but Sören walked in the pantry and immediately began to pull off his short-sleeve scrub shirt and then his turtleneck and Nicholas realized he was getting changed _right there._ Nicholas felt a twinge of arousal at the delicious sight of Sören shirtless - his lithe, toned torso, those pierced nipples - but he was also a bit taken aback, expecting Sören to use the bathroom to change behind a closed door, and part of him was tempted to hover and watch the show, but he didn't want to be rude or creepy, so he backed away and went about the business of setting the table, which was how Sören found him a few minutes later, coming out in a Nine Inch Nails T-shirt and jeans, his curls hanging loose. Nicholas heard the washing machine going down the hall.  
  
"Hi," Sören said.  
  
"Hello," Nicholas said, stomach fluttering, face on fire again. "Are you... refreshed now?"  
  
Sören laughed. "A hot shower would have been better, but I didn't want to impose." He cocked his head to one side. "Do you want help?"  
  
 _I think I am beyond help, where you are concerned._ "No Sören, it's all right, I'm almost done. Please take a seat in the living room."  
  
Sören did, and when Nicholas was finished setting the table, he asked, "May I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Hot chocolate?"  
  
"Oooh, hot chocolate, please." Sören's face lit up at that.  
  
Nicholas's breath hitched - god, how he loved that smile - and he smiled back at Sören before going over to make the hot cocoa. He watched Tobias hop up on Sören's lap and climb on him, headbutting him aggressively before settling into Sören's arms, purring so loud Nicholas could hear it across the room.  
  
"Yes, I missed you too," Sören cooed to the cat. "Oh yes, what a good boy." Sören held the cat and rocked him a little, one hand stroking the cat's fur. Sören leaned in to rub the nose in Tobias's fur and gave the cat kisses, and Nicholas chuckled... and realized how natural that looked, as if Tobias was Sören's cat too.  
  
 _He belongs here._ Nicholas heard himself sigh, aching for the fantasy of Sören living with him, sharing life with him, sleeping in his arms at night... _Stop that._  
  
"Are you warm enough?" Nicholas asked. "I was going to put on the woodstove for all of you -"  
  
"I always run pretty hot," Sören said, "but it won't bother me if you put on the stove, no. I like fire."  
  
As the water boiled, Nicholas attended to the woodstove, and Sören asked, "Where's Karen and Geir? Thought they'd already be here."  
  
"Oh, yes. They called a little before six to let me know they'd be running late. They should be coming at seven-thirty or closer to eight, so it's just you and me for the time being."  
  
"Oh, OK." Sören nodded, and then he asked, "Do you mind if I use your restroom?"  
  
"I don't mind," Nicholas said, and then he added, "Sören, you could have used the restroom to get changed, I wouldn't have minded that, either -"  
  
"Oh! Well, um, _takk_. I wasn't thinking, I just wanted to get the scrubs off right away..."  
  
"I see. You would have had more privacy in the bathroom."  
  
"Oh. I guess this is one of those British things, getting changed or seeing stuff isn't as much of an issue in Iceland..." Now Sören turned pink. "I didn't mean to offend you -"  
  
"I wasn't offended." _Disappointed, more like it, because I didn't watch._ Nicholas felt like a filthy old man. "I just didn't want you to feel like you _had_ to use the pantry and didn't have the common courtesy of using my restroom. I want you to feel comfortable here, like this is a second home. That was all."  
  
"That was probably why I just changed in the pantry and didn't think about it, because this is like a second home," Sören said, meeting his eyes. He gave a fond little smile. "I know we just met not that long ago, but..."  
  
"No, it's all right, Sören. I..." Nicholas exhaled. "I'm glad you feel that way. That's... important." _That's_ important? _Really. What the hell kind of thing is that to say._  
  
Nicholas brought Sören his hot chocolate and Sören noticed the book Nicholas had been reading. " _Wuthering Heights_ , eh?"  
  
"Yes." Nicholas sat back. "Have you read it?"  
  
Sören nodded. "In both Icelandic and English. It's a good book, though I like that one by her sister - _Jane Eyre_ \- a bit better."  
  
"Ah, yes. I do too, actually."  
  
"I read _Jane Eyre_ for the first time when I was fifteen and I found myself really relating to the orphan, raised by the guardians who hated her, treated like shit when she went to school." Sören chuckled. "In hindsight, it probably gave me a type - dark, troubled... skeletons in the closet." Sören rolled his eyes and shook his head.  
  
Nicholas stopped himself from saying _There are no madwomen in the attic here,_ but he didn't want his interest to be too obvious. Even as every nerve in his body was screaming to say something to him about it, he felt it wasn't prudent.  
  
Then Sören changed the subject. "Whatever you're making, it smells _amazing._ "  
  
"The cassoulet is almost ready. I hope you'll find the taste as enjoyable as the smell."  
  
"I've never disliked your cooking yet, Nick." Their eyes met, and held.  
  
Nicholas felt shy and awkward, wondering how best to entertain Sören while they waited for Karen and Geir to arrive. He didn't want to ask Sören about his week - Sören seemed exhausted, and Nicholas thought talking about work might make him revisit stress, he wanted to give Sören an escape from that. Just putting on the television seemed like a trite thing to do, "getting off easy", like something someone would do to babysit a child who didn't like children. Then Nicholas remembered Sören played chess, and he asked, "Would you like to play a game of chess with me while we wait for our guests?"  
  
"Yes!" Sören grinned. "It's been ages since I've played."  
  
"It's been a long time for me, too," Nicholas said, nodding.  
  
Nicholas took out his chessboard and set it up, while Sören occasionally picked up the pieces and admired the carved wood, ran his fingers along the edge of the board, noticing the craftsmanship. "This is such a gorgeous chess set," Sören said.  
  
"Thank you. It's really too pretty to be sitting there unused, isn't it?"  
  
Sören nodded solemnly. "Well, hopefully it'll get more use, now."  
  
"You may go first, Sören."  
  
Sören studied the board, and moved the pawn in front of his queen.  
  
Nicholas moved his king-side knight in anticipation of Sören moving his king's pawn.  
  
Sören moved his queen-side bishop to pause where he could take Nicholas's knight next turn if Nicholas did not move his knight.  
  
"Aggressive," Nicholas remarked. He placed his knight just in front of the bishop, where unless countered, his next move would take one of Sören's pawns and threaten his queen.  
  
Sören sat back in his chair and steepled his hands under his chin, examining the board. Nicholas could practically see the gears in Sören's head turning, playing moves in his head, trying to figure out strategy. Nicholas waited, and watched as Sören picked up his mug of hot cocoa and sipped it, _glaring_ at the board, smoldering intensity. Nicholas's cock stirred at that look on Sören's face, and heat seared him once more, wishing Sören weren't so damn attractive.  
  
After a few minutes where the only sound in the room was the grandfather clock ticking and Tobias purring, Sören moved his queen over one square, where his bishop had been sitting.  
  
Nicholas moved his king-rook's pawn forward one square, threatening Sören's bishop.  
  
" _Shit,_ " Sören swore under his breath.  
  
The timer went off; the cassoulet was done. Nicholas got up and took the cassoulet out of the oven, and then he started the woodstove while he was up. He sat back down and Sören was staring at the board again, and now Sören withdrew his bishop one square. Nicholas advanced his queen's pawn forward two squares.  
  
Karen and Geir came in then. "Hello, hello," Geir sang out.  
  
"Hi, kids," Nicholas said. "Come in, sit down. I just made hot chocolate for Sören not that long ago and the water should still be hot, would you like some? Or would you prefer coffee or tea?"  
  
"Oh, hot chocolate would be lovely, thank you," Karen said.  
  
Karen and Geir sat on either side of Sören, each giving him a hug and a kiss, and Sören smiled, before glowering again at the board.  
  
"Oh, are we interrupting?" Geir asked.  
  
"No," Nicholas said. "We would have to pause anyway for dinner. Which is cooling to be a reasonable temperature for eating. We can have hot chocolate while we wait. Please pardon me, Sören." Nicholas got up to make more hot chocolate.  
  
As he did, he watched Sören staring at the board, looking sexy with that fierce look of concentration on his face, seeming almost angry at the game. Nicholas wondered if Sören was like that during surgery, too. It seemed to Nicholas that surgery was another kind of war, needing a strategy, needing to be careful and precise because one false move could make everything go awry, needing to be able to adapt if unforeseen things occurred...  
  
 _War is a lot like love, I suppose._ But then, Nicholas had little experience in that, until now. It did indeed feel like his feelings for Sören were like a minefield, needing to be so careful lest they explode and hurt Karen and Geir as collateral.  
  
"How was your shopping trip?" Nicholas asked, not wanting to be rude by distracting Sören, but also not wanting to be rude to Karen and Geir.  
  
"It was fun," Karen said. "Like I said on the phone we ended up taking a bit of a detour and seeing some interesting things. I got a couple of new sweaters at a boutique."  
  
"So did I," Geir said.  
  
"I'm glad you had a good time," Nicholas said.  
  
Sören moved his king-bishop's pawn forward one square, threatening Nicholas's knight, and _smirked_ at him across the room.  
  
"We also got a few new DVDs," Karen said.  
  
"Well, new to us," Geir said. "They were from a used DVD and book store."  
  
"I brought one of them over," Karen said, reaching in her purse. "It's a Bollywood movie."  
  
Nicholas had never seen Bollywood, though he knew some of his students were into that, and he was curious now, keen on expanding his cultural horizons. "Oh, what is it?"  
  
"It's called _Bride and Prejudice,_ " Karen said. "It's an adaptation of _Pride and Prejudice_ by Jane Austen -"  
  
Sören snorted. "I fucking hate Jane Austen." Then he quickly added, "No offense. I just... ah. Not my thing."  
  
Nicholas wanted to be horrified, with Sören disparaging classic literature, but the truth was he didn't care much for Austen either, and he could see how someone from Sören's background would find Austen uncomfortable to read.  
  
Karen looked a little taken aback, but took it in stride. "Well, maybe you'll like this, it's a very different spin on the story. That is, if Dad doesn't mind if I put it on."  
  
"After dinner," Nicholas said, nodding. "I don't mind. And Sören, we've got the game going if you find the movie isn't to your liking -"  
  
Sören just nodded.  
  
They had hot chocolate, and Nicholas made his next move, his knight, taking Sören's king-rook pawn and threatening Sören's king-bishop, even though he knew Sören's king-rook could take his knight, but then that rook wouldn't be able to castle. And Sören's king-bishop was trapped, the only squares he could move it to occupied by pawns.  
  
"Fuck," Sören said.  
  
Nicholas gave him a wicked little smile.  
  
After a few minutes, and sips of hot chocolate, Sören moved his queen's knight to the queen-pawn position, threatening to take Nicholas's knight if Nicholas took his bishop.  
  
Then Nicholas saw where Sören had left himself wide open. He moved the knight threatening the bishop, not to take the bishop, but to take Sören's king-bishop's pawn. "Check."  
  
"FFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK."  
  
Karen gigglesnorted, and Geir shook with silent laughter at Sören's reaction. Tobias, who was loving up on Karen, gave Sören a concerned "PRRRP?" and climbed back over to him to headbutt him and perch on a shoulder, as if to say _there there._  
  
And then Sören saw the obvious mistake Nicholas had made - his knight could be taken by his king's pawn or his king-knight's pawn. Sören took the knight with his king's pawn and kissed it as he put it near him. "My precioussss," Sören said.  
  
"Right, dinner," Nicholas grumbled, feeling annoyed with himself for being so eager to put Sören in check right away that he'd made such a glaring error.  
  
Sören _strutted_ all the way to the table. It would have been infuriating if it weren't so sexy. Nicholas was even more annoyed with himself now, for finding Sören so attractive, his heart racing, hands shaking a little as he dished out the cassoulet.  
  
There was a Cahors malbec to go with the meal. Nicholas swirled the wine in his glass, breathing in the scent before his first sip. Sören made a face as he took a sip, and Nicholas realized he probably wasn't much of a wine drinker, so he tried to not be offended. Then Sören took his first bite of cassoulet and his response more than made up for it.  
  
"Oh, my _god._ " Sören swayed from side to side, his eyes closed with bliss. He shoveled another forkful into his mouth. "This is fucking _amazing,_ " Sören said with his mouthful, and then he noticed he was talking with his mouthful and waited to swallow before he said, "Sorry, manners."  
  
"I can forgive you, since your response is so enthusiastic," Nicholas said, feeling that warm glow of pride that Sören liked the meal so much. "I was rather hoping you'd enjoy it."  
  
"No, _enjoy_ seems like an... an insult to how much I love this." Sören had another forkful, and another, and he made another swoon in his seat, his face radiant as he smiled across the table at Nicholas while he reached for his glass of wine. "If you didn't love teaching so much I'd tell you to open up a fucking restaurant." He clinked his glass of wine with Nicholas's then. "This is awesome. _You_ are awesome for going to the trouble of making this."  
  
Nicholas smiled. "Thank you." He leaned back in his chair, feeling relief roll through him that Sören liked it - feeling stupid that he wanted to impress Sören... feeling ridiculous at the fluttery, hot feeling he got at the way Sören smiled. "I must say, you all are... awesome... for giving me someone to cook for. It's nice to have a family."  
  
"Awwwww, Dad." Geir reached out and gave Nicholas a little hug, and then Karen did the same. Since Nicholas and Sören were sitting across from each other, Sören couldn't do that - Nicholas didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed - but then Sören put a hand on Nicholas's arm, and it felt like being shocked with a live wire. Nicholas's cock stirred again, craving more of those hands.  
  
"This is only the... second? or third? time he's made this since we started regularly having dinner with him over a year ago," Karen informed Sören. Then she turned to Nicholas and said, "You really went all out here." And then Karen and Geir exchanged smiles that seemed conspiratorial, as if there were some inside joke Nicholas had missed.  
  
"I wanted to make something special," Nicholas said. He glanced over at Sören. "I know my special boy has had a hard week."  
  
"Oh, Daddy." Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip.  
  
When Sören did that, it made Nicholas want to do bad things to him. Nicholas sipped more wine, trying to keep from reacting.  
  
"What's in this, anyway?" Sören asked. "I'm just curious. Might have to try it some time in my crock pot."  
  
"I can give you the recipe later," Nicholas said, "but in the meantime it's got sausage, as I told you I would need to use up the remainder of it..."  
  
"Right."  
  
"And cannellini beans, pancetta, proscuitto, duck, parsley and bread crumbs."  
  
"Oh wow, this has _duck_?" Karen's eyebrows shot up. "Very fancy."  
  
"The irony being cassoulet was originally the food of peasants in France," Nicholas said. "Now of course, as you know, duck is considered a food of prestige, so cassoulet is considered more of a gourmet meal. But it wasn't always. In any case, I grew up eating cassoulet and it's sort of a comfort food for me. I thought it might be comforting for Sören after a difficult week."  
  
"That was very kind of you," Sören said.  
  
"Yes, Dad, you're very sweet," Karen said.  
  
 _And sweet on Sören._ Nicholas sighed and patted Karen's shoulder. "I try." He couldn't resist giving Sören a look across the table, thinking about their chess match in process. "Away from the chessboard, anyway."  
  
Sören raised his glass, smirking.  
  
After dinner Sören insisted on doing the dishes, and then there were bathroom breaks, and Sören went to transfer the contents of the washing machine to the dryer. Then it was time to get back to chess, and time for Karen to start the movie. Nicholas brought the wine bottle to the coffee table, since there was more in the bottle and they might as well finish it, and Karen made microwave popcorn - something Nicholas normally wouldn't keep on hand, but had started stocking for the kids, since Karen liked making it as a snack while watching movies.  
  
Nicholas countered the capture of his knight by advancing his king-pawn two squares, threatening Sören's bishop. Sören took the pawn with his queen-pawn, smirking again. Nicholas sat and studied the board, and started planning strategy, moving his queen-knight in front of his queen-bishop's pawn. Sören responded by moving his king-knight two places in front of his king-rook.  
  
Nicholas moved his king-bishop down, two places in front of Sören's queen-bishop's pawn, threatening Sören's knight. The bishop would then be immediately threatening Sören's king.  
  
Sören advanced his queen-bishop's pawn one space forward, threatening the bishop. Nicholas moved his bishop back one square, two places ahead of his queen's rook. Sören moved his queen-knight's pawn two steps forward, further threatening the bishop, though he was leaving it vulnerable to capture from the knight, but the knight could in turn be captured by the pawn. Nicholas withdrew his bishop again, putting it in front of his queen-knight's pawn.  
  
Sören advanced his queen-knight's pawn forward another square, threatening Nicholas's knight. Nicholas moved his knight in front of his king. Sören moved his king-knight in front of his king-bishop. Nicholas moved his one knight between Sören's bishop in the center of the board and the king-pawn. Sören moved that bishop back in front of his king-knight's pawn. Nicholas captured it with his knight, threatening both Sören's bishop and his rook.  
  
"Fuck," Sören swore again. He knew he was either going to lose his bishop or his rook, now.  
  
Nicholas smiled, and raised his glass of wine in salute.  
  
The Bollywood movie - which was actually a musical - was starting to get Nicholas's attention, and Nicholas could tell it was interesting Sören as well, even though he didn't like Jane Austen.  
  
Sören tried to focus on the board, munching on popcorn. Then the young women broke into a song-and-dance routine, something that Nicholas assumed was called "No Life Without Wife" because of the chorus, and Sören and Nicholas both watched with amusement.  
  
 _I don't want a man who ties me down  
Does what he wants while I hang around  
I don't want a man who's crude and loud  
Wants a pretty wife to make him proud  
I don't want a man who can't be funny  
Who tells tall tales about making money_  
  
Sören had taken a sip of wine right then and he almost spat it, shaking with silent laughter. "Oh my god," Sören muttered, and chugged more wine, still shaking.  
  
The women continued to sing and dance on screen and then the song got to:  
  
 _I just want a man who likes to cook  
To read my dreams and share my books_  
  
Sören's eyes met Nicholas's and Nicholas felt a chill go down his spine, his hair standing on end as gooseflesh rose under his sweater... a chill met by heat in his cheeks. _He couldn't be..._  
  
Nicholas looked away. _Of course he isn't interested in you._  
  
The song was over and Sören moved his bishop out of the way, in front of his knight. Nicholas captured Sören's rook. Sören then captured Nicholas's knight with his knight.  
  
"You are now knightless," Sören said, cackling as he played with the knight, kissing it before he set it down.  
  
Nicholas grumbled.  
  
The game wore on. Sören eventually got Nicholas's queen, and later, checkmated him with his own queen and his knight. Sören got up and did a little dance, and then he _dabbed_ , which made Geir double over, wheezing, as Karen facepalmed, shaking her head and giggling.  
  
"Good game," Sören said, shaking Nicholas's hand. "I'm pretty rusty for not having played in awhile."  
  
Nicholas had to. "Hello Pretty Rusty For Not Having Played In Awhile -"  
  
"Heyyyyy." Sören crinkled his nose, laughing, and then he surprised Nicholas by giving him a squeeze. Nicholas's heart skipped a beat and his stomach leapt, his cock stirring again, a frisson through him. Nicholas patted Sören's back.  
  
"I haven't played in awhile either," Nicholas said.  
  
"I can tell," Sören said, being snarky, and then he patted Nicholas's shoulder. "You put up a good fight."  
  
"I demand a rematch," Nicholas said. "Though not tonight."  
  
"No, definitely not tonight. This movie is actually pretty good," Sören said, looking back at the screen. "I don't like Jane Austen but I'm enjoying this."  
  
"Oh, we'll have to show you more Bollywood movies, then," Karen said.  
  
"Yes, I'd like that very much," Sören said, nodding.  
  
There was still a bit of the movie left, and they relaxed, paying attention to it, sharing popcorn, finishing the wine.  
  
When the movie was over, there was a nature documentary on BBC One, and Sören said, "Ooh, let's watch this!"  
  
"Can you bring out the extra blankets you told us about, Dad?" Karen asked. "Just for cuddling with, not for borrowing to take home."  
  
"Sure," Nicholas said, and then when his knees cracked as he got up, Geir said, "I'll get up and get them," and leapt up, dashing off to the linen closet. Nicholas felt a twinge of guilt, not wanting the kids to have to wait on him - he could have done it - and he felt self-conscious again, wondering if Sören heard it. _A reminder of the fact that I'm too old for him._  
  
Nicholas sighed.  
  
Geir came back with blankets for everyone, and Nicholas smiled as he watched Sören wrapped up in a blanket, looking adorable with his face peeking out. He looked even more adorable when Tobias climbed back on him and settled on Sören, kneading and purring, with Sören sticking a hand out of a blanket to stroke the cat. "That's a good Toby," Sören cooed. "Such a good boy. Such a good little kitty."  
  
Sören's two glasses of wine became three, and though the documentary about primates was intriguing - even as Nicholas felt a twinge of embarrassment at the mating bits, and Karen and Geir and Sören giggling at them - Nicholas couldn't help but keep stealing glances at Sören, watching him relax... and relax. Nicholas realized as he watched Sören just how much tension he carried in his body at any given time, and it seemed like Sören was melting. Eventually, Sören's eyes looked heavier, and Nicholas saw he was closing them, then re-opening but looking dazed, only half-paying attention to the documentary. By the end of the documentary he was sleeping.  
  
"Oh dear," Karen said. "He was going to go back with us when we were done for the night here but... he looks so peaceful, I don't want to disturb him."  
  
"Sören?" Geir gently shook him. "Sören?"  
  
"Hmmm? _Hvað? Hvað er í gangi?_ "  
  
Nicholas knew for Sören to be lapsing into his native language, he was probably pretty out of it.  
  
Geir tousled Sören's curls. "Sören, show's over. We're gonna go back to the flat now, OK?"  
  
"OK," Sören said, nodding, and then he went right back to sleep.  
  
Karen laughed, shaking her head.  
  
Geir was about to shake him again and then Karen stopped him. "It's OK, Geir. He had a rough week, he needs his rest. We don't have to go right now. Though... it is getting late." Karen looked at the clock.  
  
"Well..." And Nicholas thought never in a million years he'd be saying this, but here it was. "He can spend the night here. As you know, I have a guest bedroom, and if he can make it up there he's welcome to take my bed - er, the bed in the guest bedroom..." Though Nicholas found he wouldn't object if Sören did, in fact, take his bed, and his face was on fire again at the slip he'd made, hoping Geir and Karen didn't read into it. "Otherwise he can stay on the couch."  
  
Geir and Karen looked at each other and then Karen nodded. She leaned in to give Sören a kiss on the cheek and Sören smiled, his eyes still closed, and mumbled something incoherent before letting out a snore.  
  
Nicholas walked them to the door.  
  
"I'm sorry," Karen said.  
  
"For what? You did nothing wrong," Nicholas said.  
  
"Oh, I know, I just know you probably weren't counting on having an overnight guest," Karen said, "and you have school tomorrow and..."  
  
"I shall manage," Nicholas said. "Really, it's no great inconvenience to me. I feel worse for you, since I know you were looking forward to having an evening with him."  
  
"I was, but I can't blame him for falling asleep," Karen said. "He's tired. I understand. It's like I said on Saturday, I knew going into this he has crazy hours. I'd rather take a little of his time than nothing at all."  
  
"Yes, that's... understandable." Nicholas felt much the same way, though he too wished he could see Sören more often. And he felt guilty about it, like he was taking something away from the kids. _What kind of 'dad' are you, to be this way._  
  
"I'm sure you and Sören will make up for lost time," Geir said, chuckling.  
  
"Oh god. I'm sure." Karen turned beetroot.  
  
Nicholas flushed also, and Karen stammered, "Oops. Sorry, Dad."  
  
"It's... quite all right." Nicholas chuckled. "As you know, you're adults. I shan't tell consenting adults what to do."  
  
Karen threw her arms around Nicholas and hugged him tight. "Thank you for everything. Dinner, and... looking out for Sören."  
  
"Yeah, he needs it," Geir said, joining in the hug, hugging both of them.  
  
"You both need looking after too. If you need anything..."  
  
"Yes, Dad, we know," Karen said. Karen and Geir waved, and then they were on their way. Nicholas heard them giggling as he closed the door, and he wondered what about, but assumed it was something in the movie or the documentary.  
  
Nicholas took the bowl that had held popcorn, that just had kernels and a few burnt pieces now, over to the sink, and then came back for the wine glasses, then for the empty mugs of hot chocolate. As he did the dishes he kept glancing over at Sören, looking adorable sleeping, wrapped up in a blanket. He fought off the urge to go over there and hold him.  
  
It was time to feed Tobias again, who got a can of food and a little bit of dry food before Nicholas went to bed in the evening. At the sound of the can opening, Sören sat up with a start and blinked, looking around in confusion. Then he turned to look at Nicholas, who was emptying the can onto a plate for Tobias, and Sören asked, "Where's Karen and Geir?"  
  
"They went home," Nicholas said. "It's getting late, you fell asleep on the couch."  
  
"Oh, _shit._ " Sören facepalmed. "I'm so sorry." He sighed. "I suppose it's too late to head over there, so I should go back to my place..." Sören yawned, betraying how tired he was.  
  
"They knew you needed your sleep, Sören, I'm sure they're not upset with you. And if you wanted to spend the night here, instead of traveling at this hour when you're still tired, I'm OK with that."  
  
"Oh!" Sören blinked, yawned again, and then he gave Nicholas a surprised look. "You... you mean that?"  
  
Nicholas nodded. "I have a guest bedroom upstairs, or you can sleep on the couch if you'd prefer. Either way..."  
  
" _Takk_ , that's very kind of you." Sören gave a nervous little chuckle and rubbed his beard. "Uh, even though the couch is comfy enough that apparently I fell asleep, I should probably sleep in a real bed so I'm not all stiff tomorrow."  
  
Nicholas's mind went places at Sören talking about being "stiff", even though he knew Sören didn't mean it like that. He shoved those mental images away. "I have a pair of pajamas you may borrow, though they might be a bit long for you."  
  
"OK."  
  
After Nicholas put down fresh food for Tobias, and checked the status of Tobias's water fountain, he and Sören headed upstairs. Sören paused at the door of Nicholas's bedroom while Nicholas went in his dresser for a pair of pajamas. He handed them to Sören and said, "There's a spare toothbrush still in the box in the medicine cabinet, and if you want to take a shower feel free..."  
  
"I'll probably shower in the morning so I'm more fresh," Sören said, "and I feel like I can barely stand right now." Sören took the pajamas with a " _takk_ ," and gave Nicholas a weak smile as he went across the hall to the guest bedroom.  
  
Nicholas wondered if he was going to change with the door open, but Sören closed the door. Nicholas needed to use the bathroom, and decided to kill two birds with one stone, bringing his own pajamas down the hall with him, getting changed and brushing his teeth. He too would be showering in the morrow.  
  
Predictably, Tobias sat outside the closed door of the guest bedroom and began meowing, and finally scratching at the door. Sören finally opened the door with a chuckle, and Tobias trotted into the guest bedroom, and Nicholas took a look at Sören in a pair of his black silk pajamas. Though they were a bit long on him, they didn't look bad, and clung to Sören's body in all the right ways.  
  
"I suppose I should keep this door open so he doesn't complain?" Sören asked.  
  
Nicholas nodded. "He won't let either of us get any rest if you shut the door. My apologies, I know that it might be harder to sleep with less privacy -"  
  
"Nah, it's OK." Sören chuckled.  
  
They lingered for a moment, just looking at each other, as Tobias sniffed around the guest room and rubbed his face on things. Finally the silence got to be too much, and Nicholas cleared his throat, and Sören said, "Yes. Um... thank you, again, for letting me stay the night here."  
  
"You're welcome, Sören."  
  
"I'm sorry for falling asleep. I normally don't fall asleep at someone's house when I'm a guest, but I've been so tired from work and I guess I just felt... safe and comfortable enough here to... to sleep."  
  
"Well, I'm glad. Not glad that you're so tired, but I'm glad you feel safe and comfortable here. And please, you don't have to apologize for falling asleep. It's no trouble for you to stay here."  
  
" _Takk._ "  
  
"I assume you have to be up at a set time tomorrow for work?"  
  
Sören nodded. "I go in at seven, so I need to be up by no later than six. I'll probably be up at five."  
  
"All right. There's an alarm clock by your bed. And, I get up at five-thirty, since I need to be at campus by eight and I have my morning routines. So I'll see you before you leave. If you like, I can make breakfast for us."  
  
"Oh... that would be nice."  
  
"I will see you tomorrow, then, Sören. Sleep well."  
  
"You too." And then, before Nicholas could step back into his bedroom, Sören asked, "Daddy? Can I have a hug?"  
  
Without hesitation, Nicholas strode across the hall and pulled Sören into his arms, against his chest. Sören rested his head on his shoulder and it felt so _right_. Without thinking about it, Nicholas put his hand on Sören's head, gently rubbing, stroking his curls, enjoying the silky feel of Sören's hair, and it smelled delicious too, a combination of firewood smoke and a floral spice. It seemed so strange that Nicholas had to push himself past his reservation to give Karen and Geir little touches of affection and yet here and now, he didn't have to push, didn't have to think about it, just feel. And Sören felt so good in his arms, against his body, Sören's wiry, lithe frame fit to him just right, and he was so _warm_...  
  
Sören's arms around him, holding him... it was so nice to be held. Nicholas could feel the power in those arms, Sören was stronger than he looked. Now Nicholas, too, felt safe and comfortable, like he was wrapped up in the blanket Sören had fallen asleep in, like he was within a living shield wall.  
  
Sören sighed, and just the sound of that sigh was erotic to Nicholas, a shiver going down his spine. And the feel of Sören's body on his was not just comforting, but arousing. Nicholas pulled back, reluctantly, before Sören could feel the way his cock was starting to wake up, responding to Sören's body, even as it was taking Nicholas all of his restraint to not grab Sören's face and kiss him.  
  
Their eyes met, and Nicholas gave Sören's curls an affectionate rub, to show him the pulling away wasn't personal. "To bed with you," Nicholas said, keeping his tone light even as his nerves were screaming.  
  
"Oh, all right." Sören grinned, and then he crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip, looking innocent and naughty all at once. Nicholas's cock throbbed in response. "Good night, Daddy."  
  
"Good night, dear boy."  
  
Nicholas's cock wasn't completely hard as Sören withdrew to his room and he walked through his own, but it got harder as he walked to the bed, and when he climbed in beneath the quilts and blankets he was fully erect. Nicholas was keeping his door open for Tobias's sake, and even though everything was dark and he was under the covers, Nicholas still felt self-conscious about reaching down to take care of himself, not wanting Sören to see the covers moving and put two and two together if Sören was still awake. He heard Sören snoring softly a few minutes later, but he was still hesitant to touch himself, not wanting to wake Sören up with the bed creaking, or if he couldn't hold back a moan.  
  
So he lay there, frustrated, and in the dim glow of the nightlight he looked across at the guest bedroom, where Sören was under a pile of covers, snoring softly, Tobias curled up with him. He thought about what it would be like for Sören to share this bed with him, to hold him, to watch him sleep, listen to those cute little snores. He _ached_ to feel Sören in his arms again, that strong, sleek body, the silk of his curls, his smoky-sweet natural scent, his warmth, the safety of him. But even with the ache, the skin hunger, the thought of Sören sleeping in his arms was comforting, and the coziness of it relaxed him enough that eventually Nicholas, too, drifted off.  
  
  
_  
  
  
He enters what looks like a blacksmith's forge. He can feel concern, worry, coursing through him as he calls out. "Hello?"  
  
And then he sees Sören curled up in a corner, still in his apron, asleep. Nicholas goes right over to him and picks him up off the floor like he weighs nothing, starts carrying him out of the forge.  
  
Sören stirs, grumbling, then he giggles when he realizes what Nicholas is doing. "Hey."  
  
"You're getting some rest in a proper bed, and you're going to have some proper food first."  
  
"I'm fine," Sören says.  
  
"You're not fine. I haven't seen you in days, you've been holed up in there working yourself to death..."  
  
Their eyes meet, and Sören kisses the tip of his nose. "If you say so. But you know, I can walk, if you want to put me down -"  
  
"And have you run right back in there and work some more? I don't think so." He's only half-joking.  
  
Nicholas leads Sören to a sumptuous chamber - a large canopy bed with gauzy curtains and richly embroidered tapestry, using Geirt thread, and there is also heavy wooden furniture, stained glass windows, a baroque mirror. There is a pitcher of wine on a table and Nicholas pours him a glass, then Nicholas sits Sören on his lap on a cushioned lounge seat and begins feeding him finger foods - bread, cheeses, fresh fruit and vegetables - by hand like he is a pet. But there is sensuality to it, with Sören licking and sucking his fingers, licking and kissing his palm. When Sören is finished, they kiss. Nicholas is already hard, and Sören is hard too, guiding Nicholas's hand to the bulge in his breeches.  
  
But Nicholas isn't going to give in just yet. "You're filthy from all that time in the forge," Nicholas scolds him. "You need a bath."  
  
Sören is capable of washing himself but Nicholas gives him a sponge bath, rubbing Sören's body in slow, lazy, sensual circles. He smiles at Sören's cock dripping with precum, and teases him further by taking a lick here, kissing there, until Sören cries out, "I can't take it anymore."  
  
"We need to get you clean first." Nicholas moves the sponge to Sören's cock, going as slow as can please.  
  
And then Nicholas teases him even more, Sören laying on his stomach as Nicholas washes his back, kisses down his spine, washes the little puckered hole and traces his finger around it. Sören screams into the pillows.  
  
As Nicholas reaches to get a towel, Sören grabs him, rolling onto his back, pulling Nicholas atop him. Sören feverishly pulls off Nicholas's tunic, reaches to untie his breeches. "Now," Sören demands. "Now, I need it _now_ -"  
  
Nicholas gives an exaggerated sigh. "If we _must._ "  
  
"Bastard."  
  
"You of all people should know my lineage is impeccable."  
  
Sören throws his head back and laughs, and then grabs Nicholas by long hair that Nicholas has never had in his life, before he bites Nicholas's neck, making Nicholas's cock jolt, wanting him.  
  
"I just wanted to take care of you," Nicholas whispers, tasting his blood on Sören's lips.  
  
"Now I need you to take care of me another way," Sören husks, and spreads his legs.  
  
  
_  
  
  
"MROWRRR."  
  
Tobias was standing on his chest, and now Tobias stepped onto his sternum. Nicholas groaned when the cat turned himself around, walking on his sternum, and groaned again when the cat's hole was right in his face.  
  
Tobias gave him an expectant look over his shoulder. "MOW. _MOW._ "  
  
It was only quarter after five; Nicholas's alarm wouldn't go off for another fifteen minutes. But Nicholas always fed the cat first thing when he woke up, and another fifteen minutes hardly mattered on Tobias time, he wanted food _now_.  
  
Nicholas shut off the alarm and went to the bathroom first, and saw that he'd ejaculated in his sleep, which wasn't entirely a surprise since he'd had unusually vivid and intensely sexual dreams about Sören, but he felt even more like a ridiculous, overgrown teenager now. After his visit to the restroom, he saw Tobias hanging around at the top of the stairwell, who started meowing again as he saw Nicholas leave the bathroom. "Yes yes, I know, _I know_ ," Nicholas said. The cat followed him downstairs, climbing down to the side of him, and in the kitchen Tobias hovered, still meowing when he opened the can of food, and circled around him as he walked over to the dish. As Nicholas put on coffee for himself, he realized Sören said he was going to wake up at five, and that he needed to be up by no later than six, and wondered if he should go up to wake him up.  
  
He heard the alarm blaring upstairs and knew it wasn't his, since he'd shut his off, and that was confirmed when he heard a cry of "Oh, _fokkaðu þér,_ " and the alarm being slammed off. Nicholas chuckled to himself.  
  
After a cup of coffee, he got Sören's clothes out of the dryer and brought them upstairs. Sören was curled up under the covers again, and Nicholas saw Sören had hit the snooze button. He took a moment to admire the beauty of Sören asleep, the lashes framing his cheeks, the full lips slightly parted, feeling guilty about disturbing his peace, and then he gently shook Sören's shoulder as he neatly set the folded clothes down on the bedtable next to the alarm. "Here," Nicholas said.  
  
"Hmmmf."  
  
"I'm going to take a quick shower," Nicholas said. "There should still be enough hot water for you to take yours."  
  
"Hmmmf."  
  
Being naked in the shower, with Sören right down the hall, got Nicholas going again. He felt self-conscious about relieving himself, like he was being some sort of creepy pervert, so he didn't, killing his hard-on with thoughts of the news and various unpleasant figures. He quickly made his way to the bedroom, again feeling a flare of self-consciousness about the prospect of Sören seeing him in just a towel, but Sören was still buried under the covers by the time he reached the bedroom, shutting the door behind him for privacy's sake.  
  
Nicholas came out dressed, and Sören was still sleeping. It was close to six now. Nicholas walked into Sören's room and shook him again. "Sören, it's almost six."  
  
"Wha?" Sören sat up. "Oh shit."  
  
"I'm going to make breakfast. You can come down when you're ready, OK?"  
  
Sören nodded, and rubbed his eyes, yawning.  
  
Nicholas headed downstairs. He decided to make scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage and toast, wanting something filling on the cold January morning, and for Sören to get a good start on a long work day. When breakfast was done and ready to serve, Sören still wasn't downstairs yet, and Nicholas wondered if Sören had decided "just a few more minutes" and gone back to sleep yet again. Not wanting Sören to be late for work and get in trouble, he went back upstairs, arthritis be damned... and Sören wasn't in bed. He heard the shower running down the hall.  
  
 _Oh, all right. I'll just go back downstairs then and wait for him -_  
  
And then the shower stopped, and before Nicholas could make it to the stairwell, the bathroom door opened and out came Sören with a towel around his waist.  
  
It was the most delicious sight Nicholas had ever seen in his life, Sören's curls and facial hair slick, his body glistening, dripping wet, his pierced nipples hard from the chill, the hair around his belly button making a trail down, the top of his bush barely concealed by the towel.  
  
"Oh, sorry," Sören said. "I didn't realize you were up -"  
  
 _Up would be the word for it._ Nicholas's cock stirred again. "I do apologize, Sören, you hadn't come down and I thought you were still sleeping. I didn't mean to intrude -"  
  
"You're fine." Sören gave him a little smile. "Actually, while you're here, something I wanted to ask you -"  
  
For the briefest instant, Nicholas wondered if Sören was going to ask him if he was gay, or if he wanted to go on a date or possibly even have sex, and he held his breath, bracing himself.  
  
But then Sören said, "What do you want me to do with the pajamas I borrowed last night? Where do they go?"  
  
"Ah." _Well, shit._ "There's a laundry basket opposite Tobias's cat tree, near the stairwell to the terrace. You can just leave them in there."  
  
"OK. I'm sorry to make more laundry for you -"  
  
"It's no trouble, Sören. And breakfast is ready."  
  
"OK, I'll be right down."  
  
Sören came down a few minutes later in his scrubs. His hair was still hanging loose, and Nicholas knew he put it up for work. "I'll put my hair up when I go over for work and it's dried off a little more," Sören said, pulling up a chair. "Breakfast looks amazing."  
  
"One of these mornings, if we don't have to rush, I'd like to make you something like crepes or homemade crumpets."  
  
"Oooh." Sören beamed at him, taking Nicholas's breath away. "You spoil me."  
  
"You deserve to be spoilt." Nicholas quickly realized how that sounded, and added, "You work so hard, helping all those people..."  
  
Nicholas let Sören eat in peace, but when Sören was almost done he finally broke the quiet by asking, "How did you sleep? I know it can be difficult to sleep in an unfamiliar place -"  
  
"Believe it or not, I slept really well." Sören chuckled. "Best I've slept in awhile. I didn't want to get out of bed." Their eyes met. "Thank you, again, for letting me sleep here."  
  
"You're welcome, and... anytime, Sören. If you accidentally fall asleep again on my couch it's no trouble to have you as a guest, and if we're ever spending time together and you want to spend the night..."  
  
Sören didn't reply immediately, and Nicholas wondered if Sören was taking it a particular way - Nicholas couldn't say he hadn't meant it a particular way, though he was too shy to come right out and state his interest directly. But then Sören nodded and said, "Well, I appreciate that." Their eyes met again. "You're such a good friend."  
  
 _Friends._ Nicholas sighed, and smiled despite the crushing disappointment, the longing, and being annoyed with himself for wanting more.  
  
Nicholas still had a little bit of time after Sören left for the National. He did some tidying up, though he decided the catbox could wait until after he got home. And then, without really thinking about it, he went to the laundry basket and he pulled out the pajamas Sören had worn last night, still warm from Sören's body...  
  
...still smelling like him.  
  
Nicholas found himself putting the crotch of the pajamas to his nose, and breathing in. He could smell Sören's musk. His cock strained against his trousers, urgent for relief, and Nicholas carried the pajama bottoms in with him to the bathroom, continuing to breathe in Sören's scent as he stroked himself, his mind replaying the dream from last night, and entertaining the fantasy of Sören climbing in bed with him, writhing underneath him. He came to climax quickly, calling out Sören's name as his seed shot into a wad of toilet paper.  
  
"Dammit," Nicholas growled, wishing he could make himself stop wanting.


	6. Gift

On the night of the thirtieth, Karen came to the National to meet Sören as he was getting off work. Sören had made a reservation at a surf-and-turf restaurant in Holborn and insisted on treating - even though Karen had said several times that she wasn't offended by Sören falling asleep on Sunday night, Sören still felt he needed to make it up to her, and Karen loved seafood at least as much as he did and wasn't going to say no to the offer.  
  
Karen was already dressed for the evening, looking lovely in a navy blue wool dress, her platinum blonde hair in a loose chignon. Sören wasn't going to the restaurant straight from work in his scrubs, but Karen had said she didn't mind coming home with him and picking out his outfit. That was just as well, because there was something else Sören wanted Karen's help with.  
  
"Do you mind if we take a detour when we get back from the restaurant, before we go to your place?" Sören asked as he and Karen stepped into his flat.  
  
"No. Where to, Nicholas's flat?"  
  
"How did you guess?"  
  
"I _was_ a barrister, Sören." Karen squeezed his arm. "But it doesn't take a barrister to notice you and he are becoming good friends."  
  
 _I wonder if you notice I'm falling in love with him._ "Well... I have a present for him. I wanted to give him something to say 'thank you' for fixing my bunny..."  
  
"Oh!" Karen's face lit up. "That's very kind of you, Sören."  
  
"Don't say that yet. I hope he likes it. But first... outfit, then I can show you what I'm giving him."  
  
Sören washed his hands, and Karen followed him to the bedroom. Sören opened up his closet and Karen looked at his meager selection of dress clothes. Sören noticed her pausing at the two suits he owned. "That would be a bit overdressed for the restaurant," Sören said, hoping Karen wasn't going to pressure him to wear a suit.  
  
"Oh, no, I agree, I was just looking. Though, you'll have to forgive me for imagining what this looks like on you." Karen took out the burgundy Armani suit.  
  
"God, I'm surprised I even have that thing."  
  
"Is it a relic from..."  
  
Sören winced, nodding.  
  
"Sorry. I didn't mean to hit a nerve -"  
  
"No, it's all right."  
  
Karen frowned. "Is there a story behind the suit? It's OK if you don't want to talk about it, but I know you're not the kind of person to wear suits, let alone go out and buy a suit..."  
  
"When I was with Anthony, a couple of his friends took me to Emporio Armani before my first art show. It turned out I didn't even _need_ to wear a suit to that." Sören sighed. "I also ended up getting a haircut in that trip."  
  
"You... you cut your hair?" Karen gave a slow blink in disbelief.  
  
"Not entirely by choice. Trisha set up an appointment for me with this stylist, Jean-Yves, and brought me in there claiming I was just getting my split ends trimmed. Jean-Yves cut off a huge chunk of my hair and Trisha claimed it was a 'misunderstanding'. I had to get it short to not look completely fucking ridiculous." Sören pinched the bridge of his nose, remembering. It _still_ hurt almost two years later.  
  
" _Jesus_ , Sören. What did Anthony say?"  
  
"Well, you know. Anthony had been friends with her for years, since their diploma conversion, so he didn't want to think badly of one of his friends. But..." Sören shook his head. "Forget it."  
  
"Wait, she was in our diploma group?"  
  
"...Yeah."  
  
Sören could see Karen wracking her brain, muttering "Trisha, Trisha" under her breath. Then Karen gasped. "Oh my god. Is she blonde?"  
  
Sören nodded.  
  
"Beatrice Courtenay, oh my _god._ She is a _twat_ , Sören."  
  
"She's Beatrice Courtenay-Sorrentino now, if they haven't gotten divorced. I heard about it third or fourth hand, my colleague Colin, who's going private next month, his sister is Anthony's assistant and she was at the wedding and a lot of other people in the London legal community from what I understand. The wedding was huge."  
  
"I'm glad I left law before I got an invite to that," Karen said with an eyeroll. Then she started shrieking with laughter as she made the connection. "Sorrentino... she married _Vincente?_ Vincente, who seduced half the women in our class? Tried - and I might add, failed - with me, because he was a sleaze? Oh I'm sure _that'll_ work out well."  
  
"Well, if he wants to cheat on Trisha, maybe he can get tips from Anthony." Sören chuckled at his own joke, pleased with himself.  
  
Karen meowed, and Sören meowed back, and they leaned on each other, laughing.  
  
"But you know them, já?" Sören felt somewhat vindicated now, knowing it wasn't just him who thought Trisha and Vincente were terrible people.  
  
Karen nodded. "I didn't like 'Trisha' - Beatrice - at all. She was very... public school educated, silver spoon in her mouth, really stuck on herself, didn't seem to like other women much. To be honest, part of why I didn't like Anthony when we were in the same diploma group is because he was friends with _her_ and I didn't know how he could stand to be around her. Apparently she's even worse than I thought." Karen sighed and gave him a tight hug, tousling his curls. "I'm sorry that she got to you, Sören. That's horrible, to do that to someone's hair." She kissed the tip of his nose as she pulled back.  
  
Sören frowned. "The fucked up thing is I don't know _why_. I don't know what I did to her." He had felt like a helpless, bullied kid all over again, back then.  
  
"To be honest, it's probably the fact that you come from a working-class background and you work for the NHS and you're proud of working for the NHS, and her family is Tory. You weren't 'her sort'."  
  
"Well, Lawrence, another of their friends, grew up in council housing in Brixton -"  
  
"If it's the Lawrence I'm thinking of, she very likely only tolerates him in their clique because he's Black and she doesn't want to be accused of being a racist, putting it bluntly."  
  
"Oh my _god._ " Sören could see that, and it bothered him. He wondered if Lawrence knew.  
  
Karen exhaled sharply.  
  
"Shit, now it's my turn to say 'I didn't mean to hit a nerve'..." Sören reached out to her.  
  
"It's OK, Sören." Karen put an arm around his waist and squeezed. "I was the one who kept talking about it. It just feels surreal, that you know the same people. That you almost married _Anthony._ "  
  
"I loved him very much."  
  
Karen nodded. "I know." She patted as she put the burgundy suit back in the closet. Then she pulled out a pair of leather trousers, leering, and Sören threw his head back and laughed. "Your arse looks nice in them, what can I say?"  
  
Sören's face burned, and he gave Karen a quick kiss on the cheek - needing to keep it somewhat chaste, or they'd never leave on time for the reservation.  
  
Karen also picked out a white ruffly poet blouse, and a black vest. She sat on the edge of Sören's bed and watched as he undressed, giving a wolf whistle when Sören took off his boxer-briefs to change into fresh ones.  
  
Sören gigglesnorted. "I should have put music on, done a little dance for you."  
  
"Oh! Well... maybe next time."  
  
Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip.  
  
"Have you done that sort of thing before?" Karen cocked her head to one side.  
  
Sören nodded, a bit reluctantly. "I've given Anthony a couple of lapdances, and, well... remember how I told you I was in that bachelor auction for charity, back in November, to benefit the children's hospital? I, ah. I did a dance number onstage."  
  
"I hope it was successful."  
  
"Very." Colin and Ed had only _just_ stopped ribbing him about "that bloke who paid five million quid". And then Sören sighed, remembering being ghosted after the wonderful weekend together. _At least Karen hadn't actually ghosted me, years ago, she just lost her phone._ Sören reached out, took Karen's hands, and squeezed. "I'm glad I'm with you, though."  
  
"Me too." Karen squeezed Sören's hands back. "Though I have to say, I wish I'd known about the auction, and that you were one of the bachelors up for bids. I'm not rich but I would have been happy to donate money to the hospital for a night with you."  
  
"You would have been outbid." Then Sören realized it was another attack of no brain-to-mouth filter, and he stammered, "That isn't a criticism or anything of your financial situation..."  
  
Karen chuckled. "No worries, Sören, I didn't take it as such."  
  
"...Just the guy who ended up winning, he paid an exorbitant amount of money."  
  
"Can I ask how much?"  
  
Sören couldn't resist having a Nicholas moment. "May I."  
  
Karen giggled and threw a pillow at him. " _As you know_ , I get enough of that from Nicholas. I _shan't_ have it from you."  
  
Sören laughed too and threw the pillow back at her; she caught it and hugged it. "OK. If you ever met a couple of my colleagues they'd probably tell you this themselves, since they were there. The guy bid five million quid."  
  
"He. What." Karen's eyes widened. "Who has that kind of money to throw around? Was he... was he famous?"  
  
Sören nodded. "I had to sign a non-disclosure agreement. Truth be told, I think he would have donated that kind of money to the hospital anyway, and... well... someone else was bidding on me... that creepy guy with the antiques shop, and it seemed like a bit of a rivalry with the two of them." Sören shrugged. "Doesn't matter now. It was just one weekend."  
  
"You sound... a little disappointed that it wasn't more than that."  
  
"I am, but I'm over it, mostly." Sören managed a grin, admiring the beauty of Karen sitting on his bed. "I have you and Geir. I feel pretty lucky."  
  
There was a pause, and then Karen said, "But you would have also dated that guy if he'd..."  
  
Sören nodded. "Truthfully, yes. Doesn't mean it would have worked out. As it was, the class difference between myself and Anthony became sort of a thing, never mind, you know, dating a billionaire."  
  
"I wonder if the class difference with you and Anthony would have mattered as much if his friends weren't hanging around," Karen mused.  
  
Sören shrugged. He'd spent countless nights since the breakup rehashing everything over and over again, trying to figure out what went wrong and how, what could have prevented things from falling apart. In the end, the conclusion was the same - "It doesn't matter now. We're done."  
  
Karen wisely dropped the subject, and once Sören was dressed, Karen followed Sören into the bathroom to watch him fix his hair and put on a little eyeliner and mascara. "I'm so glad I have tomorrow off," Sören said. "So rare I get Saturdays off anymore."  
  
"You poor dear." Karen reached out and patted him. Then she snickered. "We can't be up _too_ late tonight, I have my usual Saturday breakfast with Nicholas in the morning."  
  
"Yeah, that's fine. A little lovemaking is nice but no marathon, I'm pretty tired from work." Then Sören remembered part of why he'd brought Karen here. "Oh, speaking of..."  
  
"Nicholas, or lovemaking?"  
  
 _Both._ Sören stopped himself just in time, not wanting to give away that he'd been lusting after the man she called Dad, and make things awkward. "That gift I told you about, for Nick repairing my bunny..."  
  
"Ah, yes, I want to see it."  
  
Sören opened the hall closet and took out the print he'd made of the digital painting he'd done on the tablet, carefully wrapped in plastic, and then two frames he'd bought, not able to decide which one. "Look at this painting..."  
  
"OH MY GOD." Karen clapped her hands together and jumped up and down, before throwing her arms around Sören and hugging him tight. "Sören, that's _exquisite_."  
  
It was Tobias, done in Sören's usual Pre-Raphaelite-influenced style, with a touch of fantasy elements and dreamlike colors - either hazy pastels or super-saturated, colors ramped up. In this case it was more saturated. Tobias was sitting on a throne, wearing a crown with three brilliant jewels, and a blue-diamond-encrusted collar with a pendant of an eight-pointed star like the necklace Sören wore under his clothes, set with a blue diamond, sparkling. Tobias's throne was on what looked like the rooftop garden of Nicholas's flat, but it was even more full of roses and herbs and small trees than it was in reality, with painstaking, loving attention given to the flora in the background, and the sunset sky, as well as to Tobias and his finery and the throne itself.  
  
"He's going to _love_ that," Karen said.  
  
"I hope so." Sören bit his lip. "I worked very hard on it. It's why I've been scarce all week."  
  
Karen gave him a big kiss. "You are incredibly thoughtful." Karen looked at the painting again, studying it. "And talented."  
  
"Well, I need your help with something." Sören showed her the two frames. One was rosewood, and had an ornate carving of roses and leaves around the border. It was thicker than the other frame, a dusty white ceramic with flecks of golden sparkle. "I can't decide which of these would look better with the painting, or in Nicholas's house."  
  
"Hmmmm. That's hard."  
  
"That's what he said."  
  
Karen gave Sören a playful shove and then leaned on him, giggling. She swatted his ass. "Incorrigible."  
  
" _Takk._ "  
  
Sören took the painting and lay it against the rosewood frame, and then against the white ceramic frame, for contrast. A few minutes later he repeated, and Karen continued to study, and finally she pointed to the white ceramic frame. "I like both frames, but I think for the painting of Tobias, you should go with this one, and reserve the rosewood frame for, I don't know. Something else." Karen looked up at Sören, and said, "Something with a more romantic feel."  
  
"Romantic?" Sören raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Oh, you know what I mean," Karen said. "Classical... mythological... that sort of thing."  
  
Sören _didn't_ know if that was what Karen meant - that sentence felt like a saving throw - and he wondered if it was really obvious to her that he had feelings for Nicholas, but he didn't want to broach the subject now. Instead, he put the print in the white ceramic frame, and wrapped it up carefully before putting it in a bag, which he would take to the restaurant. Karen called a cab, and they went downstairs to sit outside and get some air and look up at the stars.  
  
Dinner with Karen was nice and relaxing, and just what Sören needed after a difficult week. He was glad to see Karen dig in and enjoy her salmon and prawns, and he liked making her laugh by making his shrimp do a dance and have a "pool party" in his cocktail sauce. On the cab ride back to Covent Garden they did some necking, and Sören's libido was screaming when they were let out in front of Nicholas's building. The prospect of seeing Nicholas made it even worse.  
  
Even though Karen had a key to Nicholas's flat, she still felt it was polite to call first, and Sören waited, breath steaming in the night air, as she rang him. "Hi Dad," Karen said when he answered. "Sören and I are right outside, he has a present for you, can we come up?" Sören heard Nicholas's voice ring out loud and clear: " _May_ you come up." Karen facepalmed, chuckled, and shook her head and asked, " _May_ we come up?"  
  
Sören threw his head back and howled with laughter. "DON'T EVER CHANGE, NICK," he yelled from the curb.  
  
But as they got in the lift to go up to Nicholas's flat, Sören's mood changed - he felt anxiety in the tight enclosure of the small elevator, his anxiety on an amplifier as he worried that Nicholas would hate it, would think it was too cutesy or silly or stupid...  
  
Nicholas opened the door as soon as he heard the chime of the lift, and Sören and Karen came in. Nicholas had put on tea for them. Sören noticed Nicholas was wearing black silk pajamas and an open bathrobe, and Nicholas's chest hair was peeking out of the V-neck. Sören wanted to bury his face in Nicholas's chest, rub his nose in the fur, rub his fingers through it, lick it...  
  
"Hi, Dad." Karen gave him a hug, and then Sören did, and it was all Sören could do to not touch that delicious silver pelt. Sören's libido came surging back, hungry. Tobias provided a blessed distraction, rubbing up against Sören's legs with a "prrrp?", circling around him, tail held high. Sören leaned down to skritch and stroke the cat, smiling as Tobias purred loudly.  
  
"Have a seat," Nicholas said. "Tea will be ready soon."  
  
Sören and Karen took the couch, sitting across from Nicholas. Tobias hopped onto Nicholas's lap, and Nicholas politely waited. Karen looked at Sören and nodded, and Sören swallowed hard. "Right," Sören said. He cleared his throat. " _As you know,_ " Sören began, making Karen snicker, "earlier this month you fixed my bunny. And I... wanted to give you something to say thank you. So..."  
  
Sören handed Nicholas the plastic bag. Nicholas carefully withdrew the large rectangular object inside, itself wrapped in protective layers of plastic bubble wrap. Tobias pounced on the bubble wrap as Nicholas gingerly set it on the floor, and at last the portrait in its frame was unwrapped and Nicholas got his first look. His mouth opened.  
  
For a full minute, Nicholas didn't say anything, and Sören felt his world crash around him, felt his stomach sink, felt his heart shattering, fought the urge to bolt out of there. And then at last Nicholas's eyes met Sören's and Nicholas's voice was soft as he asked, "Sören... did you paint this?"  
  
Sören nodded. "On my Wacom tablet. I got a print made, and I went shopping before my shift yesterday to pick out the frame. Well, frames... Karen helped me choose between them tonight. But..." Sören nodded again. "I made that."  
  
"Sören." Nicholas's eyes were wide. "This is _marvelous._ Truly. I do not even have words to begin to describe how much in awe I am of your talent. You are a master. This is a masterpiece."  
  
Sören's face burned and he bit his lip. Tears stung his eyes. "You... you really mean that?"  
  
Nicholas nodded solemnly. "I do. This is one of the finest gifts anyone has ever given me." Nicholas looked back at the painting, studying it, then he looked at Sören with a smile, then he looked back at the painting, taking it all in. "All that detail. And the colors are so rich. And you captured Tobias _perfectly_." Nicholas chuckled. "It shows how much you love my cat." He chuckled again, their eyes meeting once more. "And how much my cat has claimed you."  
  
 _Not just your cat, Nick._ But Sören didn't speak the words aloud. Instead he sat there, tears in his eyes, relieved Nicholas's compliments seemed genuine.  
  
The kettle whistled and Nicholas fixed the tea and brought the tea service over. Tobias dragged a piece of bubble wrap over to Sören like it was his kill, before climbing on Sören and putting "the paw of ownership" on him.  
  
"I want to hang this as soon as possible," Nicholas said. "Actually, I believe I shall hang it tonight, while the two of you are visiting, if you've got a few minutes."  
  
"I believe we do," Karen said, looking at Sören, who nodded.  
  
"Where do you think you'll hang it?" Sören asked.  
  
Nicholas stroked his chin thoughtfully, and then he said, "I think I'm going to move my print of Jeanne d'Arc from the half-landing and put this portrait of Tobias there."  
  
That was a very prominent place. "Wow! Are... are you sure?"  
  
Nicholas nodded. "Rossetti's _Joan of Arc_ was my favorite painting but this is my new favorite."  
  
Sören didn't want to break down and cry, touched as he was to hear that from Nicholas. He distracted himself from the overwhelming emotions with a question, a curiosity in the back of his head since he'd first met Nicholas in December. "Why was that one your favorite?"  
  
Nicholas chuckled. "I would have thought that would be obvious. She's the patron saint of France, my ancestral homeland, and even though I've long since left the Catholic Church behind, I still find her story inspiring - to fight for what you believe in, even unto the death. I have, in a sense, never stopped fighting for what I believe in, even if the way I go about it is different than the way I envisioned myself doing so in my youth."  
  
Sören had a chill down his spine. And then he had the strange, mad urge to scream out _Don't you fucking die on me._ But he just nodded and said, "Makes sense."  
  
"You know..." Their eyes met again. "You are the very first person to ask me this question."  
  
"Really?" Sören was surprised by that, moreso that Karen or Geir hadn't asked him.  
  
"Hm. Yes. I know you are an artist - and a very talented one, as gifted as Rossetti himself, if not moreso -"  
  
"Oh, jeez." Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls, feeling he could absolutely burst from the warm glow of pride.  
  
"- but now I'm curious as to why you were curious."  
  
"Well... that should be obvious, too," Sören said. "I can tell a lot about a person from what they like or don't like, what resonates with them. Show me the kind of art that speaks to you, and I will tell you who you are. That sort of thing." _And your love of the Pre-Raphaelites tells me that as different as we are in many ways, at our core we are the same. You are passionate. Sensitive. There is a secret fire in you, that burns just like mine does._  
  
"That's fair." Nicholas nodded. "Well, when we finish our tea, you can watch me hang this."  
  
And that was what they did, Karen and Sören hanging back a couple of meters while Nicholas pulled Rossetti's painting down from the half-landing of the staircase in the hallway, and replaced it with Sören's portrait of Tobias. Nicholas took a few steps back, surveying his handiwork, and the painting of Tobias looked even more natural there than the painting of Joan of Arc had.  
  
"What do you think? Is it centered properly?" Nicholas asked.  
  
"It looks fine to me, Dad," Karen said.  
  
Sören nodded. "It looks perfectly centered."  
  
"Good." Nicholas then took the painting of Joan of Arc and looked at it. He carried it downstairs and he held it out at Sören. "Here."  
  
"...Here?"  
  
"When you go home," Nicholas said. "Your flat is very spartan. It doesn't look lived-in, though I noticed you had a couple prints, like 'Starry Night' by Van Gogh. Hang this in your flat if you want, give it a little more life. As one fighter, to another."  
  
Sören took the painting, deeply touched by both the gesture of Nicholas wanting to make Sören's home feel more like a home, and Nicholas acknowledging Sören's own strong sense of purpose and conviction - performing surgery was indeed like going to battle every time - and then the words that rose to his consciousness terrified him: _I'd rather live with you._ But he didn't say it aloud. He didn't dare.  
  
"Well..." Nicholas followed them back to the living room, and looked at the grandfather clock. "It's getting later in the evening and I imagine the two of you wanted to spend more time together, so I shan't keep you."  
  
Sören felt a twinge of reluctance at leaving, but he did want to make love to Karen, and cuddle, and they couldn't do that here. Sören watched as Karen gave Nicholas a big hug and Sören couldn't help smiling at the way Nicholas smiled as he wrapped his arms around her and patted her back.  
  
"Have a good rest of the evening, my dear," Nicholas said.  
  
"You too, Dad," Karen said, affectionately skritching his beard.  
  
"And..." Nicholas gave a little eyebrow lift. "We shall be having breakfast together as usual tomorrow morning, yes?"  
  
"Yes," Karen said, nodding.  
  
Nicholas turned to Sören. "What about you, are you accompanying us?"  
  
"Am I invited?" Sören looked at Karen.  
  
"Oh! The only reason why I hadn't asked yet is because I know you're not a morning person and you like to sleep in, and I know you've had a long week and could use the extra rest," Karen said, giving him an apologetic look. "But if you want to come, I don't mind at all."  
  
"I think I can make myself deal," Sören said, looking at Nicholas. _A chance to see you again._  
  
"Splendid. I look forward to you joining us, Sören," Nicholas said.  
  
And then Nicholas stepped forward, and Sören realized for once Nicholas was initiating the hug. He handed the painting to Karen, who waited as Nicholas took Sören into his arms, hugging him tight. Sören's cock and hole both throbbed at the feel of Nicholas's body against his... at the scent of him. Nicholas's arms felt strong and his chest was like a fortress, making him feel safe. And Sören melted at Nicholas's hands on his back, even as a frisson of arousal shivered down his spine, making his cock throb again. All of the tension seemed to drain out of him, replaced by the feeling of rightness...  
  
...like he had come home. Like he _belonged_ , right here and now.  
  
Sören heard himself sigh as he rested his head on Nicholas's shoulder for a moment, and for the briefest instant Nicholas's hand pet his curls, and it electrified and soothed him all at once. When they pulled apart, they lingered for a moment, Nicholas's hands on his shoulders, Sören's hands on Nicholas's hips, their eyes locked, and Sören could feel himself breathing harder. Nicholas's cheeks were flushed, his eyes shining, his lips slightly parted, and it took Sören all of his strength not to grab Nicholas and kiss him.  
  
"Thank you again for the lovely painting, Sören," Nicholas said, patting Sören's shoulder. "I treasure it." A pause, and then Nicholas said, softly, "You, yourself, are a treasure."  
  
Sören _really_ wanted to kiss him now. But he also felt intensely stupid. _He couldn't possibly be into me that way, could he?_ On the one hand it seemed like Nicholas was giving off all the right signals in his body language, their eye contact... but on the other hand Nicholas wasn't saying anything to indicate interest. He didn't even know if Nicholas was gay or not, though there were things that set off his gaydar.  
  
Sören swallowed hard. "I'm glad you like it."  
  
"I don't like it, Sören, I love it."  
  
 _And I love you._ But Sören didn't want to say it aloud. Now he reached out and patted Nicholas. "OK. We should, ah..." He looked back at Karen, patiently waiting, feeling guilty that she'd been standing there holding the heavy framed print of Rossetti all this time. He took the painting back. "We should be on our way."  
  
"All right. See you tomorrow, kids."  
  
"Night, Dad," Karen said, putting an arm around Sören and waving on their way out.  
  
"Good night, Daddy." There it was again, just slipping out. Sören wondered if Nicholas would figure out he meant "daddy" in the gay male sense.  
  
He wondered if _Karen_ would figure it out, though he didn't think she was very up on gay culture. Geir, on the other hand...  
  
But Geir hadn't said anything to him yet. _Maybe he doesn't know, either._  
  
Sören tried to not dwell on it, and then they were in the lift again and Sören closed his eyes, trying not to panic in the enclosure as they dropped down.  
  
Sören and Karen walked to Karen and Geir's flat in silence, the silence finally broken once they got upstairs to Karen's room and they began undressing. "That painting was very thoughtful of you," Karen said.  
  
"I try to be good to the people I care about," Sören said.  
  
"You are." Karen stroked his face. "Tonight I feel like being good to you."  
  
Sören laughed. "Well..." He wrapped his arms around Karen's waist and pulled him closer to her. "You can be good to me by letting me be good to you." He kissed the hollow between her breasts and then began to kiss and lick up her neck, making her moan. "I want to taste you, _elskan min_ ," Sören whispered, before he claimed her mouth.  
  
"I think that can be obliged." Karen shoved him back on the bed.  
  
  
_  
  
  
It is snowing, and bitter cold.  
  
They have been walking for what feels like forever, in the frozen wasteland, along the frozen river. Here with the cold and the exhaustion and the hunger it is easy to forget why they are there, what this all is even for. Sören's people are angry.  
  
Sören himself is angry.  
  
His brother is there with him, the one who looks like he does, the fall of long black hair. But their eyes are different, his brother's eyes blue like diamonds, blue like starfire. And it is the love in those beautiful eyes that gives him strength, that keeps him going.  
  
 _I believe in you,_ his brother has said from the days of their youth. _You are my hero._  
  
Sören is doing this for their people. Sören is doing this for _them_ , to make a better life for them, where they will be free, where they can be together openly.  
  
Right now, he is so tired. Tired into his bones, tired into his soul. It is so cold, not just here outside, but it feels like winter in his head all the time. He does not want his people to see him fall apart, he _cannot, will not_ let them see that, let them lose confidence in him, when he knows so many already have their doubts. He leans on his brother, rests in the stronghold of his arms, and the winter in him thaws under his brother's touch, the hands on his back, the hands in his hair. The fire in his brother's eyes.  
  
His brother's eyes lock with his as he speaks, words that go straight to Sören's heart, relighting the fire within.  
  
"I am here for you. I won't leave you. Wherever you go, I will follow."  
  
  
_  
  
  
"Sören, _ástin mín_ , time to get up."  
  
Sören grumbled and saw that it was five minutes before the alarm was set to go off. Karen was already fully dressed, and handed Sören a cup of hot coffee as soon as he sat up. It was in fact much nicer to wake up to Karen's voice - and calling him "my love" in his native language, at that - than to wake up to the blare of the alarm, so Sören managed a smile and a " _takk_ " as he took the coffee from her.  
  
After a few sips of coffee, Sören still wasn't awake yet - it usually took him at least a couple hours for his brain to catch up to his body and feel mentally awake - but he remembered he was about to see Nicholas soon and that was like an extra shot of caffeine. "So this place we're going, it's, ah..."  
  
"The Raven's Roost. It's a cafe with a library, not far from here. It's where I met Nicholas."  
  
Sören gave the thumbs up with his free hand. Just the sound of Nicholas's name set Sören's cheeks on fire, made his stomach start doing cartwheels.  
  
Sören's good mood had a bit of a damper as he took a shower, and his mind recalled the dream he'd had last night. When he'd lived with Anthony, he'd started having dreams about the other-self, himself with long dark hair, a body not his own, some kind of royalty it seemed. He'd dreamed about Anthony with long blond hair... his brother. His forbidden lover. Last night he'd dreamed of their other brother-lover... and it had been the first time since things ended with Anthony, over a year ago, that he'd had one of those dreams.  
  
It bothered him, _a lot_ , that he was dreaming about "the before time" again. Even though the dream of his other brother had been comforting, even somewhat erotic, remembering the touch, those eyes. It was just unsettling to be brought back to that world again, that time, something Sören had been trying to forget since he and Anthony broke up.  
  
It felt like something was stirring in him, that it wouldn't be forgotten so easily.  
  
It felt like something was awakening. A storm rising. A harbinger, of sorts.  
  
Sören felt a frisson down his spine and he almost dropped the soap. _Let's not think about that right now. It's bad enough that I already fucking got up early in the morning to do this shit._  
  
Sören lugged the framed painting of Joan of Arc with him to the cafe, since he was planning on going home when they were done. Nicholas was already waiting for them when they got there. He got up to pull out a chair for Karen, which was charmingly old-fashioned, and then he pulled one out for Sören as well. Sören beamed at him and let out a " _takk_ " as he sat down, gingerly setting the wrapped-up painting beside him.  
  
"Did you order my usual?" Karen asked.  
  
Nicholas nodded.  
  
"Oh, what's your usual?" Sören asked.  
  
"Crumpets with honey and cream," Karen said.  
  
"I had no idea what to get you," Nicholas said, giving Sören an apologetic little frown.  
  
"It's OK," Sören said.  
  
He took a look around, taking it all in. The outside of the cafe had seemed unremarkable enough - a red-bricked building, next to a vintage jewelry store and something that sold home and office decor. There were chairs and tables outside, though it was January and a bit cold to sit out there. Inside there were bookshelves and bookshelves, and books on every table. Mismatched furniture, cast iron radiators. It was a wonderfully unpretentious sort of place, shabby, like visiting an eccentric friend's home. There were a couple of books on their table, and Sören glanced to see what they were. One was _The Gulag Archipelago_ by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn. Another was _The Grapes of Wrath_ by John Steinbeck.  
  
Sören decided on a full English breakfast, something he had not had in a long time, though he asked for the beans to be in a separate dish rather than on the plate with the other food. When Sören's breakfast came, Nicholas eyed it.  
  
"That almost makes me wish I'd ordered a full English myself," Nicholas said.  
  
"No beans on toast?" Karen asked.  
  
Sören made a face, and Karen laughed. Sören shook his head vehemently. "That's one thing I can't understand about you Brits and your food. Beans don't go on toast."  
  
"Yes they do," Karen protested, and stole a piece of Sören's toast, which was cut in halves, spooning beans on it and taking a bite to demonstrate.  
  
Sören gave her a mock glare - truthfully he wasn't angry - and Karen mimed a kiss.  
  
"So if that's one thing, there are other things you don't understand about English food," Nicholas prompted.  
  
"How many fucking things do you all call pudding?" Sören asked.  
  
Karen giggled, and that elicited a chuckle from Nicholas as well.  
  
Then Nicholas said, "To be honest, I'm not a fan of beans on toast myself. Marmalade or jam is much better."  
  
"Or Marmite," Karen said.  
  
Sören made a face again and Karen had another gigglefit.  
  
"I'll tell you, though," Sören said, savoring his bacon, "one thing that the Brits know how to do is breakfast. I don't eat a big breakfast often, but after the week I've had I should refuel."  
  
"You poor thing," Karen said, petting Sören's curls like he was a cat; Sören leaned into her touch.  
  
"So glad I have today off," Sören said. "I have next Saturday off too, actually. I can't believe it."  
  
"Oh wow!" Karen looked at Nicholas, and back at Sören. "Maybe you could come with us to breakfast again next week, then."  
  
"I'd like that," Sören said. "I take it we're gonna hang around here a bit when we're done eating, read?"  
  
"That's usually the plan, yes," Nicholas said.  
  
"I'm almost embarrassed to admit this, but I used to be quite the bookworm when I was growing up and then I just... kind of... stopped. I had all the crazy hours and in what little spare time I had, I was making art. But I got back into reading about a year ago, after..." Sören's voice trailed off, not wanting to go there.  
  
"Books were my escape as well," Nicholas said. "And there's no shame in focusing on your art, Sören. It's meaningful to you, is it not?"  
  
"Yes, but..."  
  
Just as Sören took another bite of food, the door opened, chiming as the latest patron walked in. Sören blinked, recognizing the woman who stepped into the cafe, though he hadn't seen her since 2013.  
  
"Diana?"  
  
The woman's eyes followed the direction of the voice, and then they locked with Sören's eyes across the cafe and she paused for a moment, then she mustered a smile and came over. "Hi, Sören, long time no see."  
  
Diana Traynor was tall, with deep brown skin and sleek black curly hair pulled into a high ponytail. Sören was used to seeing her in professional skirt suits and sometimes pants suits, but today she was wearing faded indigo jeans and a plum-colored sweater under a black leather bomber. She had a pretty face, heart-shaped, with hazel-brown eyes, full lips, high cheekbones.  
  
"Hi Diana." This was definitely awkward for Sören, especially after the dream he'd had last night - here was another reminder of Anthony. Now he was even more unsettled. "Uh... how've you been?"  
  
"Good. Busy." Diana gave a nervous little chuckle. "Never a dull moment at the Inn." She pursed her lips. "How have you been? I'm really sorry about..."  
  
"Jæja, I know." Sören sighed. He knew she was apologizing that the engagement with Anthony hadn't worked out. "I'm sorry too. It was... unfortunate. But, ah, I'm doing better these days, I guess."  
  
"I suppose so." Diana looked at Nicholas and Karen sitting at the table, then back at Sören. "Looks like you've got some new friends?"  
  
"Yes... this is Karen and Nicholas." Sören gestured, and Karen waved, while Nicholas said, "How do you do."  
  
"I see you coming here once in awhile," Karen said, "but I never knew who you were, or that you know Sören."  
  
"Yeah, we, ah. We know each other," Sören said with a little clear of the throat that he hoped hinted it was an awkward subject.  
  
"Not well," Diana said. "Mostly from what I've... heard."  
  
"I bet you've heard some things," Sören said into his coffee.  
  
"To be honest, mostly good things," Diana said, giving him a sad look.  
  
That went straight to Sören's heart. "Jesus," Sören muttered under his breath. He put his coffee down, took a deep breath, and looked Diana in the eye. "How is he?" _God, I feel like an idiot asking._  
  
"Impossible," Diana said, and Sören laughed, and Diana laughed too. Then Diana's tone was softer as she said, "His usual type A self. You know how it goes. But he's been a bit more difficult since..."  
  
"Yeah. Since." Sören sighed and had another sip of his coffee.  
  
Karen and Nicholas exchanged glances, and Sören knew they'd probably already figured out how Sören and Diana knew each other. Sören wanted to get off the subject of Anthony, so he asked, "Do you live far?", curious.  
  
Diana shook her head. "I'm in Covent Garden, which is a convenient distance from Lincoln's Inn."  
  
 _Yeah, no shit._ "I live in Holborn now," Sören informed her. "Closer to the National." _And Lincoln's Inn._  
  
"So... is this your first time here at The Raven's Roost?" Diana asked.  
  
"It is, though it probably won't be my last," Sören said. "I have next Saturday off so I'll be coming here with them again."  
  
"Cool. It's a nice little place, isn't it?"  
  
"Jæja, I like it so far. You like to read?"  
  
"Oh yes." Diana smiled. "I'm a big fan of mystery novels, and stories about crime, which is probably a 'no duh' considering the line of work I'm in, but..."  
  
"I like a person who likes to read," Sören said. And then he felt somewhat emboldened - he'd always found Diana attractive, and now that he wasn't with Anthony anymore and his relationships with Karen and Geir were open, he took the move that he couldn't make while he was with Anthony. "So, uh, on that note... would you like to get together sometime? Have coffee or something?"  
  
Diana raised an eyebrow. "Like a date?"  
  
"Well... yeah, I guess. I mean, we could have a pre-date date, get to know each other some more first, but..."  
  
Diana chuckled and then she said, "Sören, I'm already seeing somebody."  
  
"Oh." Sören tried to not look disappointed. He was also confused - once again, he didn't really understand monogamy.  
  
"But even if I didn't have a boyfriend already, look, Sören, don't take this the wrong way, but... I don't think it's the best idea, considering. You know." Diana gave him a stern look. "If _he_ found out..."  
  
"Yeah, I guess that would be awkward, huh." Sören frowned into his coffee.  
  
"Exceedingly."  
  
Sören felt stupid for even asking, and he felt even stupider as Diana lingered and they didn't have anything else to say to each other. Finally Diana said, "Well, Sören, take care."  
  
"You too."  
  
"See you around." With that, Diana went off to a table.  
  
Sören sighed deeply, and stared down at his plate, his head spinning with just how surreal that was. Then he started shoveling food in his mouth, not caring if it made a bad impression on Karen or Nicholas. He suddenly wanted to be any place but there, just wanted to eat his food and _go._  
  
After a couple of minutes of uncomfortable silence, Karen put a hand on his arm. "So, she, um... works with Anthony?"  
  
Sören winced. He'd been trying to avoid saying the name - even Diana had somehow understood not to mention it. But then Sören said, "She's his assistant."  
  
Nicholas nodded. "So they have a rather close working relationship."  
  
"Pretty much." Sören shoved more food in his mouth.  
  
"Are you OK, Sören?" Karen gave him a concerned look.  
  
"I'm fine." Sören gave her a tight smile. But he wasn't, really.  
  
And after their meal, as they sat in three armchairs tucked in a corner around a low table, Sören felt even less fine, continuing to steal glances across the cafe at Diana, drinking coffee, eating crumpets, and reading. Sören could barely pay attention to Solzhenitsyn's words, which normally would have riveted him, but everything was blurring together. He felt like he'd been in an emotional gulag for the last year and some months, lost on his own deserted archipelago, abandoned, forsaken.  
  
Sören tried to hide his discomfort, but Karen had been a barrister once, and she finally noticed it and gently put a hand on his knee. "Sören," she said softly, "we can go if..."  
  
"Oh god." Sören exhaled sharply. He hadn't wanted to ruin Karen and Nicholas's morning. "I'm no fun," Sören said, looking down, his words echoing Trisha's the last time he'd seen her. His eyes met Karen's, then Nicholas's. "I'm sorry."  
  
"You have nothing to apologize for, Sören. It's OK. I don't mind going if -"  
  
"I mind you going because of me." Sören exhaled again, and put the book down, rubbing his face like an annoyed wet cat. "You guys can enjoy the rest of however long you want to be here. I think I'm gonna... go home, take care of some shit, like, ah, chores or something." The truth was Sören lived so lightly in his flat - Nicholas really wasn't exaggerating that it was spartan, not really a home - that there weren't all that many chores to do, besides laundry and basic cleaning tasks. "Maybe hang that painting." _There. That's something._  
  
"Are you... are you quite sure, Sören?" Nicholas gave him a disappointed look.  
  
Sören nodded and stood up, putting on his leather duster. "I'm really sorry -"  
  
"It's OK, Sören, we understand, right, Dad?" Karen glanced over at Nicholas, who nodded. Then Karen got up and gave him a hug.  
  
Nicholas looked hesitant - as if hugging another man in a public place was uncomfortable for him, or perhaps because of his arthritis, Sören didn't know. Not wanting to be rude, and needing the comfort, Sören leaned down and put his arms around Nicholas's neck and shoulders. Nicholas leaned against him for a moment, and their eyes met, and then Nicholas patted Sören's cheek, looking into his eyes. Nicholas's dark eyes actually looked sad, and Sören felt a twinge of guilt for leaving, but he needed to get out of there _now_ before he fell apart.  
  
"Don't forget the painting," Nicholas admonished him.  
  
"Right," Sören said, and grabbed it on his way out, waving to them before marching out of there, not looking back.  
  
  
_  
  
  
When Sören got back to his flat, he didn't hang the picture up right away. He didn't do anything right away, except sit on the couch in a bit of a daze.  
  
 _We've been done since October 2013. It's now the end of January 2015. Why am I not over him already?_ Just seeing Diana and hearing about Anthony, even the smallest detail, threatened to undo him.  
  
And at last it did. Sören sat there rocking back and forth, weeping, feeling like his heart was breaking all over again with each sob that wracked through him. "Dammit," Sören cried out. "Damn this, damn _him_ , damn everything, _helvítis allt!_ "  
  
Sören doubled over on the couch, keening, screaming into the couch cushions. Then he just flopped over, feeling utterly defeated, and curled up in the fetal position, continuing to cry until he was all cried out, and he stared up at the ceiling.  
  
He looked around the living room, at the furniture that came with the place, the modern sterility of it all. It had bothered him a lot when he first moved here, fresh out of the flat he shared with Anthony, which had been their home, their private refuge away from the world - even though Anthony had the flat in Kingston long before Sören came along, it still felt like _theirs_ , Anthony's things were his things too. Very few things here were really Sören's. It all felt transient, impermanent...  
  
...like his life. Sören had been driven to medicine since he was a small child, and that was because of the tragedy of his mother's death, not being able to save her, but somewhere down the line it had become bigger than that, even, it had become much more. Sören had once felt so strongly like he was here to make a difference in the world, somehow, and for the last year and change he'd just been existing, feeling used up and spit out.  
  
Nicholas's flat felt like home. _Nicholas_ felt like home. And that was a dangerous feeling. A feeling he was afraid to trust. A feeling he was afraid to act on, lest it all be taken away from him somehow.  
  
He thought of the dream he had last night, the freezing winter, and how just being in the presence of his brother-lover seemed to make everything warm and bright again, even though they were still there in the wasteland. And he realized, that was how he felt about Nicholas. Things were starting to feel OK again, not so much because of his relationships with Karen and Geir - though he loved them and certainly couldn't discount them - but the way he felt about Nicholas. Nicholas's flat brought him out of the cold. Nicholas himself was warm, even as he was reserved. Giving. Caring.  
  
And so intelligent. So cultured. _So fucking sexy._  
  
Sören wiped a few stray tears, and took some deep breaths, trying to pull himself together. He thought about calling Nicholas, wanting to hear the sound of his voice, saying something, anything, and he restrained himself, not wanting to be needy, not wanting to give away the feelings he dared not have.  
  
Sören looked at the clock. Despite having had coffee this morning, he was still tired - this was around the time he'd be waking up on a normal Saturday off, as opposed to having gotten up hours earlier to go to The Raven's Roost. Not that he entirely regretted going, either, and he was hoping next week's visit would be better. But now he yawned, and decided a nap was in order - sometimes when he was upset, napping for an hour or two "hit the reset button" in his brain and he felt better when he woke up. He was hoping that would do the trick now.  
  
Sören slept, so worn out that his sleep was dreamless, and he was woken up by the sound of his phone ringing. " _Haltu kjafti,_ " Sören grumbled as he reached for his phone by the bed. Through bleary eyes he saw Nicholas's number and sat up with a start. "Nick! Hi!"  
  
"Hello, Sören. How are you?"  
  
Sören gave a sleepy, throaty chuckle. "Awake. I took a nap..."  
  
"Oh, my apologies, I didn't mean to wake you."  
  
"No, it's OK. Um... how are you? What's up?" Sören didn't think Nicholas was calling just to chitchat.  
  
"Well, I went for a walk, and as it happens I'm a couple of blocks away from your flat. Would you mind if I came up to visit you for a little while?"  
  
Sören's heart skipped a beat and he felt like he could tear out of bed and turn cartwheels across the room. "I don't mind, Nick. Not at all."  
  
"Splendid. I'll see you in a few minutes, then."  
  
When the knock came Sören flung the door open. Nicholas looked dapper as always in a trenchcoat and fedora, and he removed his hat at the door, giving Sören a warm little smile, his eyes crinkled at the corners. Sören wanted to hug him, but he had a feeling if they hugged right there he'd be too tempted to kiss him, so instead Sören stepped aside and said, "Come in."  
  
Sören had put on coffee in anticipation of Nicholas's visit, and he poured them each a cup as Nicholas took off his trenchcoat and had a seat in the armchair. After Sören handed Nicholas his cup he sat on the couch, and he noticed Nicholas looking at the painting of Joan of Arc.  
  
"I, ah, still haven't hung it yet," Sören said. "I took a nap not long after I came home -"  
  
"It's all right, Sören."  
  
Sören didn't want Nicholas to get the impression that he didn't like it - he very much did - and didn't want to hang it, which he did. And as a gift from Nicholas, something that had been in his own home until recently, Sören cherished it even more. "Would you like to help me hang the painting while you're here?"  
  
"Why, yes. I'd like that very much, Sören."  
  
They drank their coffee in silence for a few minutes and then Sören said, "So you went for a walk?"  
  
Nicholas nodded. "As you know, I have arthritis, but I try to not let it keep me down too much. I still try to stay as active as I can, going for regular walks, and I do tai chi for twenty minutes to a half-hour each day. There's also my garden."  
  
 _You've got a great body. Especially that firm, tight ass._ "That's good to hear. _As you know_ , I'm a doctor, so I like it when people take care of their health. And you look... very healthy. Very, ah... fit." Sören frowned. "I should walk more, but I'm always on my feet at work. It would help if I had someone to take walks with, probably. But that would also mean aligning with my crazy schedule and..." Sören sighed.  
  
"Well, I imagine with working the kinds of hours you do, on your feet, you do get a bit of walking done each day. I bet if you wore a pedometer it would tell you as much."  
  
"I guess."  
  
"You look like you're in good shape, nonetheless."  
  
Sören bit his lip, heat flooding his cheeks. _He means that in a clinical way, asshole. We're talking about health._ "I still feel like I could do more for myself, but I have asthma and that's gotten in the way of sports and things."  
  
"The offer stands to practice tai chi with me sometime. I can show you the beginner video, it's very easy to learn."  
  
Sören nodded. "My cousin Ari does that, he says it's really good for his mental health, too." Sören gave a rueful chuckle. "All the more reason to try it."  
  
"On that note..." Nicholas gave Sören a penetrating, you-can't-hide-from-me look that sent a shiver through him. "I didn't just walk this way for my health. I was concerned about you and I wanted to make sure you were all right."  
  
"Oh." Sören was touched, but also felt a slight twinge of embarrassment. "Well, that's very nice of you, but, uh, I didn't mean to worry you, I don't want you to have to go to all the trouble -"  
  
"You're part of the family now, Sören. This is what family does. We look out for each other."  
  
Their eyes met, and Sören felt the threat of tears again. He held them back, not wanting to give in to another crying fit. "Thank you." Then Sören sighed. "I'm sorry about this morning and me rushing out of there, I know I put a damper on -"  
  
"You needn't apologize, Sören. I know running into your ex's assistant was difficult for you. Neither Karen nor I are upset with you." Nicholas chuckled. "I told Karen I was heading out this way before I left and that I would tell her how you were."  
  
Sören facepalmed and laughed. "Everyone needs to stop fussing over me. God."  
  
Nicholas exhaled. "It seems to me, Sören, that you've had too few people fussing over you."  
  
Their eyes met again. Sören frowned, knowing the truth of Nicholas's words. Sören suspected part of why losing Anthony was so devastating to him was because Anthony was the first person in too long who had looked out for him. Sören and Anthony took care of each other, and losing Anthony's tender loving care had meant Sören was right back to not really caring for himself as well as he should be, left to himself.  
  
"Painting?" Sören asked.  
  
Nicholas nodded and rose to his feet. "Yes, let's hang that now."  
  
Sören and Nicholas walked around the apartment together, looking for a suitable place to hang it. Sören finally decided on the wall in the living room next to the door, a prominent place where he'd see it often. He retrieved a hammer and nails from the drawer in the kitchen counter - not that he had occasion to use them often - and Nicholas helped him line up the nail points properly and Sören banged away, finding each swing of the hammer therapeutic. In Sören's mind's eye he saw the dream-visions he used to have when he was with Anthony, of himself in a forge, hammering steel on an anvil. That had been therapeutic, too - he'd carried so much _anger_ back then, and it was a safe outlet. Here and now, Sören used just enough restraint to not ruin the walls.  
  
Nicholas took one end of the painting and Sören took the other, and they fit it to the nails. Then they took several steps back to make sure it was straight. It was slightly crooked, so they walked back to the wall and adjusted the painting just so, and upon a second inspection it was centered.  
  
"Excellent," Nicholas said.  
  
Sören nodded. Then he turned to Nicholas and said, "Thank you, again, for... for that." He gestured to the painting. "Already the place looks a bit brighter."  
  
"It could use some more work," Nicholas said. "I know I suggested this before, but we should go antique shopping sometime, get you a few odds and ends to make the flat look more like yours."  
  
"I'd like that." Sören bit back a snort. _You really are gay, aren't you?_ But Sören didn't want to get his hopes up.  
  
"I'd offer to take you today, but I know you had a rough week and you're likely still tired."  
  
Sören felt a bit disappointed by that, wanting to spend more time with him, not wanting Nicholas to go just yet. He wanted to come back with _Awwww, we could still go_ but he didn't want to sound like a whiny, needy little kid who insisted on being dragged along everywhere.  
  
And then Nicholas said, "That said... would you like to have dinner with me tonight? If you have nothing else planned, that is."  
  
"I never have anything else planned," Sören blurted out, and then he realized how that sounded, not wanting Nicholas to think he was just doing it for lack of something better to do. "But even if I did, I'd want to make the time. I like eating you. I mean, I like eating with you. Sorry, my brain is tired." _And horny._ Sören fought back the delicious mental image of himself sucking Nicholas's cock, Nicholas coming in his mouth.  
  
"I do have to go grocery shopping," Nicholas said. "Would you like to come along, or would you like to stay at my flat while I go?"  
  
"I'd like to come," Sören said, and his mind went right into the gutter again. _Oh would I._  
  
"All right. That also means you can help pick out what we're having for dinner." Nicholas smiled. "And perhaps we can play another game of chess... or..." Nicholas looked at the painting of Joan of Arc on Sören's wall, and back at Sören. "I was admiring the painting you did of Tobias again before I went for my walk. Would you be so kind as to bring your portfolio with you when we leave? I'd like to finally see some more art of yours."  
  
"Oh! Sure." Sören felt a little apprehensive, worried that Nicholas wouldn't necessarily like other pieces of his, but then, he did like the painting of Tobias and Sören didn't want to be rude and say no. Then Sören said, "As far as a chess game goes, as much as I'm keen on giving you the rematch you want, those games can last a long time and I have to be in at five AM tomorrow. So I better sleep here tonight, I can't justify waking you up at three-thirty on a Sunday..."  
  
"I understand." Then Nicholas's eyes widened with disbelief. "Five on a Sunday."  
  
Sören nodded. "And it's usually trauma cases then too, emergencies, not elective surgery. Something gruesome waiting for me as soon as I get in. Never a dull moment." Sören chuckled. "This is not even getting into being on call and having to take off at a moment's notice."  
  
"Good heavens."  
  
"Welcome to my world. It's tough to maintain any kind of relationships, friendships, with these hours."  
  
"But it's worth it." Their eyes met again. "No man is an island, Sören Sigurðsson. I speak from experience."  
  
Sören wanted to ask him then, _Why are you single?_ but he stopped himself, not wanting to be rude. _Maybe he's ace. There's nothing wrong with that._ And yet, that didn't quite seem like what was going on with Nicholas.  
  
Then Nicholas looked at his watch. "Well, if you have to call it an early night, we should best be on our way to the store."  
  
"OK, I'll grab my portfolio and we can be off."  
  
It snowed as Nicholas and Sören walked from Holborn to Covent Garden, and Sören was once again reminded of the dream he had last night, he and his brother-lover wandering, exiles, in the frozen wasteland, the snow and bitter cold. Yet, it seemed like the reverse of that dream. In his dream they were leaving somewhere, the future uncertain. Here and now, Sören was on his way to a pleasant evening with Nicholas. He was coming home.  
  
The snow felt peaceful, even strangely cozy, rather than unpleasant. Sören kept stealing glances at Nicholas, snow in his beard and on his hat and shoulders like tiny diamonds. _Winter is a good fit for Saint Nick,_ Sören thought to himself, amused. But Sören also kept thinking of the brother-lover, ebony and ice, the cold reserved nature of him concealing passion like wildfire - like the sea of space, seeming like a cold void but in truth filled with stars hotter than suns.  
  
 _He couldn't be..._  
  
 _No, that's crazy shit. None of that is real. Stop it._  
  
Though it had _felt_ so real, at the time. And here it was again.  
  
The paintings of the other-him and Anthony as the brother-lover with hair of silver-gold from "the before time" were in their own separate portfolio, one that Sören was not taking with him this time, one that even Karen and Geir had not seen. He had showcased some of those paintings before - in fact, a few prints had sold at his last art show, in early 2014 - but Sören had been hesitant to let anyone see them after that. It felt too intimate now, even for people he was intimate with, like showing someone the deepest part of his soul.  
  
Even without those paintings being included in what Nicholas was about to see, Sören still felt shy, nervous that Nicholas wouldn't like them. _And so what? Who cares?_ But Sören did care, very much.  
  
Sören managed to get his mind off the anxiety with Nicholas about to see his work as they browsed the supermarket, a convenient walking distance from Nicholas's building in Covent Garden. Sören wanted to have Nicholas's ratatouille again, so they lingered in the produce section and Sören observed as Nicholas carefully inspected the vegetables; it seemed to Sören that Nicholas was as thorough with selecting vegetables as Sören was when he had a patient who needed a diagnosis. As different as they were, they were a lot alike in some regards.  
  
Then Sören's mind went in the gutter again as he watched Nicholas holding an eggplant and squeezing it to test firmness. Sören tried to keep the amusement off his face, but Nicholas noticed and raised an eyebrow and Sören realized he probably didn't know about the eggplant emoji, until Nicholas looked at the eggplant and then he facepalmed with his free hand, finally catching on.  
  
"As you know, I have students," Nicholas explained, "and they do texting on their cell phones in my classroom before class starts. And _sometimes during_." His eyes narrowed and he tutted with disapproval.  
  
"I'm sorry," Sören said, not able to contain his laughter.  
  
"No you're not." But there was warmth in Nicholas's voice, and Nicholas's eyes were twinkling, crinkled at the corners, even as his face was stern.  
  
Sören was tempted to go over to Nicholas and say, _How about after you cook that eggplant, you show me your eggplant?_ But he behaved himself, because he still didn't know if his interest was mutual, or that he wouldn't offend Nicholas if it was. And that was a big "if". Sören still wasn't convinced someone like Nicholas, posh and refined, could be interested in someone like him. Anthony had been, of course, but Anthony had also thrown it away in a single afternoon, so Sören didn't think he could have meant all that much to him.  
  
Sören insisted on carrying at least some of the shopping bags, even though Nicholas in turn insisted that he was fine carrying them. "I may be an old man but I don't need to be _coddled_ ," Nicholas snapped, sounding a bit defensive, and annoyed.  
  
Sören sighed. "It wasn't about your age, Nick. If it was Karen or Geir I'd be offering too. I'm just trying to be polite since, you know, you're... feeding me and stuff." Sören looked down, feeling bad that he'd caused offense without meaning to do so. _There I go fucking up again._  
  
Nicholas put a hand on Sören's arm, compelling Sören to look up at him and meet his eyes. "I apologize for my reaction," Nicholas said, his voice soft. "I should have understood you were just trying to be kind."  
  
"That's all it was. Believe me, I don't think of you as some decrepit, frail old person. Like I said earlier back at my flat, you're in great shape." _You're fucking hot and I'd love to get you naked and see just how much strength and stamina you have._  
  
"All right. I'll let you carry _one_ bag, if it will make you feel chivalrous."  
  
Sören threw his head back and laughed, accepting the one bag... which he noticed had the eggplants poking out of it. "I don't know if chivalrous is the right word."  
  
"Me either," Nicholas said, smirking. He raised an eyebrow again. "You were... quite bold this morning with your ex's assistant."  
  
"Oh, that. Well, you know. I'm not exclusive with Karen and Geir."  
  
"I'd got that."  
  
"Diana does have a point that her dating me would probably cause problems with... with Anthony." Sören finally spoke the name, with a sigh. "But I wasn't thinking, really."  
  
"I'd got that, too."  
  
Sören snickered. Then he quickly sobered. "I don't always do everything on impulse. Sometimes I overthink, overanalyze things to death." _Like whether or not I should say anything to you about how I feel._  
  
"That is something I definitely relate to," Nicholas said, nodding. "But then, I suppose that's fairly common for academics or people in the professions. We have to have analytical minds to do the sort of work we do."  
  
"But yes, sometimes I do act on impulse. My decision to come to the UK and work for the NHS, in fact, was pure impulse. Can't say I regret it."  
  
Nicholas paused, and for a moment Sören wondered if Nicholas had anything to say, was searching for the right words, and then Nicholas just gave a nod and gestured to the exit. "Shall we be on our way?"  
  
They headed back into the snow, and then a short time later they approached Nicholas's building. Sören swallowed hard as Nicholas pressed the button for the lift - after the walking around he wasn't quite in the mood to walk all the way up several flights of stairs to the top floor, nor did he want to do that to Nicholas with his arthritis, even with Nicholas's insistence not to coddle him. But he wasn't looking forward to getting in that tiny elevator again, either.  
  
As soon as they stepped in Sören had to close his eyes, and he could feel his body tensing even as he tried to take deep breaths and keep calm. He heard the doors closing and felt the elevator begin to rise. A gasp escaped him as his brain screamed, the panic flooding him. He tried to tell himself _not long, almost there_ but the anxiety from the morning seemed to put his panic on an amplifier.  
  
"Sören? Are you all right?"  
  
Sören couldn't make words.  
  
"Sören, if you're all right, open your eyes and look at me."  
  
Sören opened his eyes but as soon as he did he saw the small enclosure again, felt like the walls were swallowing him, and he couldn't breathe. "I can't," Sören choked out, and shut his eyes again.  
  
He heard the sound of Nicholas putting his bags on the floor and then Nicholas's arms were around him, holding him tight. "It's OK, Sören. I've got you. You're safe with me."  
  
Sören heard himself exhale deeply, realizing he'd been holding his breath from panic, and with the rush of his breath came the tears... and the humiliation for falling apart on Nicholas like this. _He doesn't need to clean up my shit._ "I'm sorry," Sören sobbed.  
  
"Shhhhhh, Sören." Nicholas put Sören's head on his shoulder and stroked his curls, soothing him. "No need to apologize. We're almost there -"  
  
The lift chimed to announce they were on the requested floor. Nicholas let go of Sören to pick up his bags and as soon as the doors opened Sören marched out, and finally opened his eyes when he was at Nicholas's door. Sören managed a smile when he heard Tobias meowing on the other side of the door. Nicholas also smiled as he opened the door.  
  
"Yes, yes, Tobias, we're here," Nicholas said as they stepped in.  
  
Sören took off his boots, then put the portfolio binder and his grocery bag down as he took off his leather duster. He noticed his hands were still shaking from panic when he picked them up again, and another round of tears came, feeling so _defeated_. So _weak_.  
  
Sören brought the grocery bag over to the kitchen counter. "I'm going to make tea, have a seat," Nicholas said.  
  
Sören sat on the couch, and watched as Nicholas put the groceries away, except for the ingredients for the ratatoullie for tonight's dinner, which were set atop the counter. The ratatouille would be served with homemade onion soup and a fresh loaf of French bread from the store bakery.  
  
Nicholas cut a couple of pieces off the loaf and brought them over with tea when it was ready. He sat on the other side of Sören on the couch, and Sören could smell his cologne, aroused and comforted all at once. For a few minutes Sören nibbled the bread and sipped tea, trying to relax now that he was safely in Nicholas's flat. Tobias hopped on the couch and looked at them expectantly, like he wanted bread.  
  
"You have food in your dish," Nicholas said, before taking a bite of bread.  
  
Tobias climbed up on Nicholas's shoulder and put his face right in Nicholas's face, nose twitching, like he wanted to steal the bread right out of Nicholas's mouth. Sören giggled, and then he picked off a tiny piece of bread and offered it to the cat. Nicholas sighed and rolled his eyes.  
  
"I don't want to reward him for begging. Then he'll be even more of a nuisance," Nicholas scolded.  
  
Sören gave a guilty grin, shrugged, and sipped his tea.  
  
Contented with his treat, Tobias got off the couch and walked over to his food dishes, where he had some canned and some dry, and Sören heard the sound of Tobias crunching his dry food. "I'm going to start dinner in a few minutes here," Nicholas said, "but before I do, may I ask you a personal question?"  
  
Sören wondered if Nicholas was going to ask if he had feelings for him, and braced himself. _I hope it's not too obvious._ Sören just nodded.  
  
Nicholas met his eyes. "What happened?"  
  
"In the lift? I have claustrophobia."  
  
"I know that," Nicholas said, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice at the obvious answer. Then Nicholas's tone was soft as he rephrased the question. "What I should have asked was, did anything happen to you to make you that severely claustrophobic?"  
  
Sören nodded. "When I was a little kid and I was being too loud, too hyper, too whatever, my aunt Katrín used to put me in the closet. Sometimes only for an hour or so, once in awhile she made me sit in there all night."  
  
" _Mon Dieu._ " Nicholas reflexively made the sign of the Cross, and then he realized what he'd done, and Sören realized that the horror of that story must have really shocked him, while it was something Sören could mention so casually, just one more thing in a list of atrocities that had been done to him and his siblings and his cousin.  
  
"So. Yeah. Even though I'm an adult now, I. Ah. I don't like enclosed spaces much. The irony is I order MRIs for people all the time but if I had to get one done I'd need to be fucking sedated." Sören sighed. "I'm sorry. I feel like I'm constantly such a downer -"  
  
"Sören, you're not. I wouldn't have asked if I didn't care." Their eyes met. "What happened to you was... horrible beyond words. I just..." And then Nicholas's arms were around him again, pulling him close.  
  
Sören let go, falling apart, letting himself cry. Nicholas's arms tightened around him and Nicholas started stroking his curls again, rocking him. "It's all right, Sören. You're safe now. Nobody shall ever do that to you again." Nicholas's voice dropped to a whisper. "Daddy's here."  
  
"Daddy," Sören sobbed, weeping harder. In that single word, it was the ache for the father he'd never known, the hurts from the uncle who abused him, the pain of losing Anthony, the fear of having his friend, his father figure, his _home_ taken from him, losing all over again.  
  
Nicholas rocked him and rocked him. "It's OK, Sören. Daddy's here."  
  
"I'm sorry, Daddy. I don't mean to be such a crybaby -"  
  
Nicholas took Sören's chin in his hand and lifted his face up to make Sören look him in the eye, and Sören saw there were unshed tears in Nicholas's own eyes, filled with rage and compassion all at once. "If someone cuts you, you bleed, _non_? You can't help it. And crying is how you bleed here." Nicholas put his fingers on his heart, and then on Sören's heart. He drew Sören closer, put Sören's head back on his shoulder, and Sören wept afresh. "Let it out."  
  
Sören cried and cried. He felt Nicholas shake with silent tears, crying with him - crying for him - and that just made Sören cry harder.  
  
At last Tobias came back over to them and gave a concerned meow before tapping Sören with his paw, and gave him a few aggressive headbutts, chirping and purring loudly. Nicholas chuckled and let go of Sören, and Tobias climbed onto Sören and settled in his arms. Sören stroked the cat's fur and kissed the top of his head, rubbed his nose in the silky soft fur, and listened to Tobias's purrs, instantly soothing him.  
  
"He's a good friend," Nicholas said, reaching out to give Tobias some pets also.  
  
"Toby's a good boy," Sören said, skritching the cat's chin, smiling at the look of bliss Tobias gave him as he tilted his head up and leaned into the touch, his paws kneading.  
  
"His name is Tobias," Nicholas said, but his lips were quirked with amusement, his eyes soft. "As you know."  
  
"As I know. But I shan't call him that."  
  
Nicholas rolled his eyes and Sören couldn't help giggling. Then Nicholas reached out and poked the tip of Sören's nose with his index finger, and Sören felt a frisson through him. It was an innocent little touch, and yet it made Sören crave more. Wanting his daddy to touch and play and tease and make it all OK again.  
  
Nicholas got up and headed to the kitchen. "Can I help you cook?" Sören asked.  
  
"May I..."  
  
Now it was Sören's turn to roll his eyes. "May I. I like cooking, not that I have time or energy to do it very often, and well..." _I'd feel closer to you, helping Daddy in the kitchen._ "This way I can learn the recipe by doing."  
  
"All right, come along."  
  
Sören followed instructions, and Nicholas watched, looking quietly impressed, as Sören quickly, deftly sliced the vegetables for the ratatouille. "I'm a surgeon," Sören said, and couldn't resist adding, "As you know."  
  
Nicholas's lips quirked. "Hi A Surgeon As You Know -"  
  
Sören threw a discarded piece of pepper at him, making Nicholas laugh, who gave him a playful swat with a dishtowel. Sören fought back the urge to say _Ooh spank me, Daddy_ , and the delicious mental image of Nicholas taking him over his knee.  
  
Sören tried to behave as Nicholas showed him how to prepare the eggplant, which needed to be salted. But Nicholas noticed his amusement and shook his head, himself trying not to laugh and encourage Sören. "You're terrible, you know."  
  
" _Takk._ "  
  
When the ratatouille was in the oven, and the French onion soup simmering on the stove, Nicholas and Sören sat in the living room. "Should I show you my work now?" Sören asked.  
  
"After dinner," Nicholas said, "so I can properly appreciate it rather than having to get up and down to check things. In the meantime..." Nicholas reached under the coffee table and pulled up a DVD. "This is _Baraka_. If you like nature documentaries you might like this, though it's not strictly a nature documentary."  
  
They sat together on the couch, with Tobias between them, and watched the film. It was a breathtaking look at civilizations around the world, and natural phenomena. There were chanting monks, tribal celebrations, whirling Sufi dervishes, a subway terminal, active volcanoes, the rise and fall of the sun, mother and child, forest, birds, bones, tattoos, dancing, the stars. It was a reminder to Sören of how beautiful the world was, and human people - beautiful and terrible - and as much as Sören had often felt alien and "other" across his lifetime, there was still a feeling of connectedness, and with it, compassion for other humans, wonder at the little miracles of life, gratitude for the gift of life itself. It was exactly the sort of thing Sören needed to see after the pain of reliving his childhood memory of his aunt, the cruelty that humans were capable of... the pain of this morning, reliving the way Anthony had broken his heart. It was the sort of thing where if Sören had to choose a message to tell an alien race about humanity and the planet Earth, it would be this.  
  
Sören and Nicholas were both a little teary when the film was over. Before they could get too emotional, the timer went off, indicating the ratatouille was done and dinner was ready to be served. Nicholas put on Chopin as they ate together at the table.  
  
"Thank you for sharing that with me," Sören said.  
  
"Thank you for watching that with me. Once a year or so I like to revisit the film and it's... it's good to have someone to watch it with who feels things so deeply."  
  
Sören gave a bitter chuckle into his forkful of food. "I feel like that's been a curse more than a blessing, most of my life." He shook his head. "I burn. It's too hot for most people to handle. I used to wonder, when I was in my early to mid twenties, if I'd eventually self-destruct."  
  
"Your sensitive heart is a gift," Nicholas said, meeting his eyes. "That fire in you lights the world."  
  
Sören bit his lower lip. He didn't want to start crying again. He also didn't want to give into his urge to get up from the table, pull Nicholas into his arms, and kiss him until he couldn't breathe.  
  
Sören had seconds of the ratatouille, and relaxed to the sounds of Chopin. He kept stealing glances at Nicholas, enjoying the music, and it made him ache in a good way. With Tobias purring at his feet, and good food, the warmth of the woodstove, and the sight of Nicholas at peace, Sören once again had that sense that he was home.  
  
After dinner Sören did the dishes, and Nicholas loaded the dishwasher. When the dishwasher was running they got back on the couch and Sören took out his portfolio and handed it to Nicholas.  
  
Sitting next to Nicholas, Sören looked at each painting, and then up at Nicholas studying the painting, taking his time with each one, really getting a good look, taking it all in. "Marvelous," Nicholas said. "Wonderful. So much detail."  
  
"I'm a perfectionist," Sören said. "I try to get everything aligned with what I see in my head. I still feel, sometimes, like I don't get it just right, but I try to get it as close as possible without being able to... like... download that world into a holodeck, or something, from my imagination."  
  
"I feel absolutely transported looking at these," Nicholas said, and rolled up his sleeve a little to show Sören the gooseflesh. Sören also saw the white hair on his arms and a shiver went through him, his cock throbbing. He wanted to lick it. He did not.  
  
Nicholas's breath caught at the painting called _Spirit of Fire_ , where Sören was nude, on his knees, hands bound, on fire, feathers of flame molting, looking like a deity that was half-bird, half-man. "Sören, that's exquisite."  
  
Heat rose in Sören, wondering if Nicholas was complimenting the aesthetics of the painting or was complimenting Sören's naked body, itself.  
  
Sören heard Nicholas's breath hitch as he saw the self-portrait of Sören as Saint Sebastian, pierced with arrows, bleeding, looking up in agony-ecstasy.  
  
"I made that after..." Sören swallowed hard. "After it was over with me and Anthony. It was... the last painting I did, before I made Tobias for you. I had a very long dry spell where I just... couldn't make art anymore." Sören gave a shuddery sigh, speaking the awful truth of it. "Like something in me died."  
  
"It seems to have come back to life," Nicholas said.  
  
And then Nicholas turned to the first of _those_ paintings. Sören had almost forgotten about them - he thought they were further back in the portfolio and he'd have time to say "not those" and flip ahead. But now Nicholas was looking at the first of three erotic paintings, Sören and Anthony in the garden at Anthony's parents' house in Blackheath, and yet it also felt _elsewhere_ , hazy pastels washed with gold, Sören laying on his back with Anthony inside him, the two of them looking at each other like they were the only thing that existed in the world even as it seemed, now that Sören was looking at the painting more objectively next to Nicholas, that they were doing some sort of ancient fertility ritual, making the flowers grow with the energy of their sex, light shining around them, light weaving through the flowers.  
  
Sören closed his eyes, remembering the feelings that inspired that painting. How much they loved each other. Or at least, Sören had thought Anthony loved him. _And then he threw it away for some quick fuck. He threw our entire life away to get his dick off._  
  
"You... ah..." Sören cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. I know that's kind of, ah... intimate..."  
  
Nicholas chuckled and patted Sören's knee, the touch sending electricity through him. "I'm an adult, Sören. And as you know, I teach Classics. I assure you I am not seeing anything I have not already seen in the appreciation of the arts of ancient Greece and Rome. I might have been a priest once, but I am no prude."  
  
"Oh... OK."  
  
And then Nicholas sighed. "And it is clear, from this picture, how much the two of you loved each other. You look like you had something truly beautiful, no wonder it hurts you so, to this day."  
  
Sören looked down. "Yeah." Then he gave a nervous little laugh. "There's more."  
  
Nicholas saw the next one - one of the tide pools in Brighton, this time Sören taking Anthony, one of Anthony's legs on Sören's shoulder. Once again, the love between them, seemingly as much a force of nature as the sea around them, the rocks of the earth they lay upon, mating. And the last one, Sören and Anthony laying in front of a fireplace, cock to cock, looking into each other's eyes adoringly. Worshipfully.  
  
A few silent tears slid down Sören's cheeks. He felt like a wound had been ripped open. Karen and Geir had seen these pictures but it didn't hurt as much when they saw them. Somehow, it hurt so much more for Nicholas to see it.  
  
Nicholas handed Sören a box of tissues. "I'm sorry for what happened, Sören."  
  
"So am I."  
  
"But it made for some... well... lovely paintings, I must say."  
  
Sören raised an eyebrow. Most straight guys would not give the paintings such in-depth concentration, as Nicholas Decaux was doing now. They would be uncomfortable with the erotic depiction of two men making love together, especially as tenderly as they were in these paintings. Nicholas showed no discomfort with what he was seeing, other than a flush in his cheeks. Sören once again wondered if Nicholas was gay, but he also knew Nicholas was of a certain age where it hadn't been safe to be out for most of his adult life and he might think such a forward question of _"are you gay"_ to be rude. Sören felt like he'd already put his foot in it earlier with wanting to carry at least half of the shopping bags, even though Nicholas had seemed to forgive him for that.  
  
As if he were aware that Sören found his lack of discomfort to be odd, Nicholas quickly thumbed to the next painting, which was Anthony by himself at a tide pool in Brighton, looking out to sea, in solemn dark robes, carrying a walking stick.  
  
There were other pictures in the portfolio, prints of years of work, including a print of the original painting that had become the ink on Sören's back. Nicholas continued to study each one, noticing little things, appreciating the colors and the composition. At last there was nothing left to see and Nicholas handed the portfolio back to Sören, meeting his eyes.  
  
"You are even more talented than I thought," Nicholas said, "and I already thought you were quite talented, with that portrait of Tobias."  
  
Sören smiled. " _Takk._ "  
  
"You have a gift. And that gift should be shared with the world."  
  
"I had three art shows, actually," Sören said. "Two in 2013 and one in early 2014. The one in 2014 was the last one before..." Sören sighed. "Before I couldn't create anymore."  
  
"I can see why it happened," Nicholas said. "He was your muse."  
  
Those words felt like Nicholas had seen into his soul. Sören closed his eyes and nodded, and when he opened his eyes they had tears again.  
  
"He was my light," Sören whispered.  
  
"It seems, however, that the sun is shining on you once again. I was already honored by the gift of the portrait of my cat... but it is even more precious to me, now, knowing that it is the first painting you've completed since..."  
  
"Thank you. That means a lot." Sören felt it was trite to say that in response, wishing there were better words.  
  
Nicholas nodded solemnly. "I'd like to see you keep creating, Sören. Your gift is too great to not be used. It is like lighting a fire and hiding it under a shroud. Creating is your _birthright_ , Sören. And in these times now more than ever, the world needs beauty. People need to see the magic and wonder in your work, and be inspired to see through different eyes. What I saw, just now, was like watching _Baraka_ all over again. There is power there, Sören. You should explore it."  
  
Now Sören had no words that seemed right. All he had were feelings. He threw his arms around Nicholas and hugged him hard, and Nicholas patted his back, and Sören wished he had enough nerve to kiss Nicholas, to take him to bed and make love to him the way he and Anthony had made love. _You can be my new muse._  
  
After hugging for a few minutes, Nicholas pulled back - Sören almost cried out in protest - and then Nicholas cleared his throat and said, "Would you pardon me, Sören? I have to visit the restroom." Sören noticed Nicholas's cheeks were pink again as he got up.  
  
Sören pet Tobias as Nicholas took care of business, and it seemed to Sören that Nicholas was in there an unusually long time. Then Sören heard a deep groan and then a little cry from the bathroom down the hall, as if Nicholas were in pain, and his doctor's instincts kicked in and he called down, "Nick? Are you OK?"  
  
There was a pause, and Sören was about to bolt down there, worried, and then Nicholas called back, "Yes, Sören, I'm... I'm fine."  
  
Finally Nicholas came out, and though he tried to be nonchalant, he looked a little embarrassed, flushing pink once more, and Sören wondered why, and wondered what had happened in the bathroom, still feeling a little concerned. He hoped he hadn't embarrassed Nicholas for being concerned when he heard the noise. Before he could say anything about it, feeling his mouth open, Nicholas looked at the grandfather clock, and then at Sören.  
  
"I should go," Sören said, nodding.  
  
"Would you like me to walk you back to your flat?"  
  
Sören shook his head. "It's colder out now than it was this afternoon and I know you don't want to be coddled, but I don't want to aggravate your arthritis."  
  
"All right." Nicholas gave a slight frown. "What time are you finished with work tomorrow?"  
  
"Five PM, if I'm lucky, may be seven or eight if people call out or I end up with a complicated trauma surgery. So if you're inviting me to dinner tomorrow -"  
  
"I am."  
  
"It could be anywhere from six to eight-thirty before I show up."  
  
"That's all right."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
Nicholas nodded. Then he asked, "Would you at least like it if I went down?"  
  
 _Oh Daddy, yes, I'd love it if you went down._ "Went... down?" Sören had a feeling Nicholas wasn't asking a very forward sexual question.  
  
"In the lift with you. Since I know you have anxiety..."  
  
"Yes, _takk_." Sören breathed a small sigh of relief at not having to be in _the jaws of death_ alone, though he was disappointed Nicholas didn't mean "went down" a particular way. "And I'm sorry I'm -"  
  
Nicholas waved a hand dismissively. "You didn't ask to have a phobia, Sören, and it's no trouble to see you off."  
  
Sören began to put his boots and coat on, and then Nicholas said, "I have something for you, before you go."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
Nicholas reached into his pocket. "I was wondering when would be the appropriate time to give this to you, but..." He produced a key on a ring, and handed it to Sören.  
  
Sören looked at the key and then up at Nicholas, confused.  
  
"It's a key to my flat," Nicholas said. "Which means it's a standing offer for you to visit anytime you want. Karen and Geir have keys to my flat, and I have a key to theirs. It feels right that you should have one too."  
  
"Oh, Nick." Sören hugged him again, deeply touched by that. "I... should get a copy of the key to my place, too, give it to you, though my flat isn't really suitable for entertaining -"  
  
"Well, if it's not too much trouble you can do so, but in the meantime... you're always welcome here, Sören. I enjoy your company very much."  
  
"I enjoy your company too."  
  
Their eyes held as they pulled back, Sören's hands on Nicholas's biceps, Nicholas's hands on Sören's waist. Sören desperately wanted to kiss him.  
  
That urge got even stronger as Nicholas held him on the way down. Sören had less panic this time, with Nicholas's arms tight around him, listening to the rhythm of his heart...  
  
...breathing in his delicious scent. Entertaining fantasies of Nicholas naked, really breathing him in, fingers brushing the white hair on his arms and legs and chest, tongue licking it...  
  
Nicholas stood in the lift as Sören got out. Sören waved to him. "Have a good night."  
  
"You too, Sören. I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
"Bye, Daddy." Sören tucked the portfolio under his arm and looked over his shoulder before he walked out of the lobby and into the snow. He sighed as he stepped out into the night, snow falling around him, the wind bitter.  
  
 _I love you, Nicholas Decaux._


	7. Reflection

Wednesdays were typically Nicholas's shortest days of the school week, only on the UCL campus a few hours before going home at noon. All the way home that Wednesday, February fourth, Nicholas thought of Sören, looking at his phone, wondering why Sören hadn't called yet.  
  
It was getting bad. Nicholas remembered how beside himself he was with anticipation waiting for Sören to arrive on Sunday night, and the giddy rush he felt when he heard Sören's key in the lock. The way he kept stealing glances at Sören that evening, who was tired but happy, watching another Bollywood movie with Karen and Geir. Then on Monday night Nicholas had shown up at the National on Sören's break with dinner not just for that night, but enough for Sören to have leftovers on Tuesday, when Nicholas knew Sören was scheduled to perform surgery on "Slarg" the brain tumor, a complex procedure that would take hours, and Sören was unsure of when he'd be able to get a break, so having food readily available was important. On Monday night he and Sören had taken a walk through Queen's Square as usual, and they had taken a pause to sit on a bench; Sören had brought his sketchbook with him to work - he preferred to leave his Wacom tablet at home - and as they sat, Sören showed Nicholas a sketch of Karen that he'd been working on the past couple of days, where Karen was in a gossamer dress at the ocean, her hair blowing in the breeze.  
  
And Nicholas hadn't wanted to feel envious of the young woman he thought of like a daughter, but looking at the obvious tender loving feelings that had gone into the sketch, the _worship_ of his beloved, Nicholas wished that Sören loved him at least a percentage as much as he clearly loved Karen. He didn't want to take away from her, and once again he felt guilty about having feelings for Sören, fearing that it would jettison his relationships with Karen and Geir both, the only real family he had. But even as he complimented Sören's work - and it was beautiful, even for just a sketch, not a finished product - he felt that sting, that ache for him, and he was almost angry that he hadn't found Sören first.  
  
Even as he struggled with his feelings for Sören, and how embarrassed he was to feel this way - and not just emotionally, but physically; he'd masturbated more in the last few days than he had in the last few years - those feelings were getting more intense all the time. Nicholas knew Sören had today off, and he wondered why Sören hadn't called yet, or just come over.  
  
Now at his flat, while water boiled for tea, Nicholas was starting to pace around the living room, more and more wound up, feeling like he was tying himself up in knots inside. Tobias seemed to sense it too because finally Tobias let out a cry of "MOW," and narrowed his eyes at Nicholas as if to say _Are you going to call him, or what?_  
  
"Yes, I should," Nicholas replied, as if Tobias could somehow understand him. He took his cell phone out of his pocket, frowned at no new notifications for calls or texts, and with a deep breath he hit the speed dial for Sören's number.  
  
One ring. Two. Three. "Hi Nick," came Sören's voice, sounding husky from sleep.  
  
"Sören! Did I wake you?"  
  
A throaty chuckle. "Jæja, you did, but it's OK. Shit... I slept in, I guess."  
  
"You certainly did. It's almost one PM."  
  
"Well, ah... good morning." Sören chuckled again.  
  
Nicholas chuckled too. "Good morning. My apologies for waking you -"  
  
"No, it's OK. I didn't mean to sleep this late, I must have been really tired, jeez. Ah... jæja, so... hi. Did you still want to get together today?"  
  
"Yes, that's why I'm calling." And then Nicholas remembered how Sören wasn't a morning person, and he felt he ought to soften the blow of having woken him up a little. "How about I come over there and make you breakfast? I did say I wanted to cook breakfast for you sometime."  
  
"Oh! Yeah, you did, I remember that. Sure... that sounds good."  
  
"Splendid. I'll get supplies together and then I'll be on my way."  
  
"Call when you're outside and I'll unlock the door so you can just come in, OK?"  
  
"Yes, thank you, Sören."  
  
Nicholas could have done a dance when the phone call ended. He felt that giddy rush once more, too eager to see Sören again, grumpy first thing in "the morning" or not.  
  
Tea could wait; he would have a cup of tea or coffee at Sören's. He turned off the kettle and assembled a bag of ingredients for crepes and omelettes in the kitchen while Tobias hovered, and as Nicholas went to put on his shoes and trenchcoat and fedora, Tobias gave him that pitiful look, making him feel bad for leaving. Nicholas paused to give the cat some pettings. "I won't be gone forever," Nicholas assured him. "I might come back later with your friend Sören. You like Sören, don't you?"  
  
"Prrr-rowwrrr!"  
  
"I certainly like him," Nicholas muttered to himself. "Too much."  
  
"MOW," Tobias yelled as if to say _you should do something about that already._  
  
"We'll see," Nicholas replied, once again as if Tobias could understand him. A few pettings later and Nicholas was on his way, carrying a shopping bag. His arthritis twinged a little in the February air but it wasn't enough to kill the spring in his step, every step taking him closer to seeing Sören. Nicholas found himself even _smiling at strangers_ on the way there.  
  
 _Truly, I must be going mad._  
  
Nicholas was not so lost in his excitement that he forgot to call Sören when he was outside Sören's apartment building, and as Nicholas took the elevator up he was reminded of the way he'd held Sören in the lift at his own place... how good Sören felt in his arms. Once again aching for what Sören had been through as a child, the way it still impacted him to this day, wounds that hadn't truly healed yet and might not ever. Wondering how Sören fared taking the elevator to get in and out of here, or if he climbed the stairs with his asthma. The thought came to Nicholas suddenly, even more mad than the way he smiled at strangers on the way there: _If Sören lived with me, I could at least go with him in the lift most of the time, calm his anxiety._  
  
Nicholas didn't know how to broach that subject with him, especially without his feelings coming into it - that he'd want Sören in his bed, not the guest bed. He let it sit on the shelf, his heart skipping a beat when the lift doors open and he saw Sören standing in the doorway to his flat, smiling and waving.  
  
"Hello," Nicholas said as he walked in.  
  
"Hi," Sören said.  
  
Once Nicholas's shoes and coat and hat were removed, Sören reached out to hug him, and Nicholas melted into the hug, never wanting it to end. When they pulled apart Sören's eyes were shining, and Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip, which went straight to Nicholas's cock, throbbing, wishing for all the world he had the nerve to grab Sören and kiss him, march him to the bedroom and make passionate love to him. Nicholas had never even had sex, but he was sure he could figure it out.  
  
 _Stop that._ Nicholas's eyes looked Sören up and down - Sören was wearing his Pusheen "Home is where my butt is" T-shirt and a pair of blue plaid pajama bottoms... and fuzzy blue bunny slippers. Nicholas couldn't help but smile at the bunny slippers. It was ridiculous to see a thirty-year-old man wearing them, but somehow that just made Sören even more lovable to him. There was an innocence to Sören, a wild sweetness that the bitterness of the world - the bitterness of his life - had not been able to corrupt, and Nicholas cherished it. A tight lump rose in Nicholas's throat.  
  
"Here," Nicholas said, taking the bag over to the counter and beginning to set out the ingredients for crepes and omelettes. "Let me get to work here."  
  
"OK. _Takk_ , I really appreciate it." Then Sören gestured to the coffeemaker in his kitchen. "I started coffee right after you called."  
  
"Thank you, Sören. Though, I was going to have a cup of tea when I got home from work, and I ended up not getting around to making it. Do you have tea?"  
  
There was a bit of a pause, and then Sören nodded - somewhat hesitantly, Nicholas observed - and Sören shuffled past him to open up one of the cupboards, directly above the coffeemaker. Next to the jar of coffee was a box of Twinings Earl Grey - in teabags.  
  
Nicholas tried to not make a face, not wanting to be rude to Sören, and still failed, feeling himself scowl. He preferred proper tea, the loose leaf variety that one poured boiling water over, but he supposed steeping a teabag was better than nothing. "All right. Where's your kettle?"  
  
"I don't... ah, own a kettle," Sören said, rubbing his curls and then his beard, giving an apologetic frown. "I don't have tea often - well, not the black tea kind, I like this lavender-chamomile blend to help me sleep... anyway... when I make a bag of tea, I, ah, heat up water in the microwave."  
  
The dying whale noise escaped Nicholas before he could stop himself. At this, Sören shook with silent laughter. "Oh god," Sören said, biting his lip again. "You're so _scandalized._ "  
  
"You make _tea in the microwave._ " Nicholas couldn't believe it. "That... is not done. One does not make tea in the microwave."  
  
"I heat the water in the microwave. There's a difference."  
  
"It's still microwaved water, so it's still making tea in the microwave -" Nicholas pinched the bridge of his nose. "How are we even having this conversation?"  
  
"I don't know," Sören said, not bothering to hide his laughter anymore, chuckling at Nicholas's reaction - maddeningly adorable, Nicholas did not want to find him attractive right this moment. "But if you'd rather have tea than coffee, I can, you know, microwave some water for you -"  
  
" _Shan't._ " Nicholas was startled by his own vehemence. He cleared his throat and quickly added, "That shan't be necessary. I'll just have coffee."  
  
Sören was still snickering as he fixed cups of coffee for both of them, obviously amused by Nicholas's tea purism, and then he sobered a little and gave Nicholas an apologetic look. "I'm sorry. I don't have guests over often... well, really, ever. Usually when I'm seeing Karen or Geir I'm over their place because..." Sören glanced around at his spartan apartment, and then back over at Nicholas. "But if you're going to get in the habit of coming over, I might as well invest in a kettle. I didn't think to get one when..." Sören's voice trailed off.  
  
Nicholas felt a twinge of sympathy. "I take it Anthony had one."  
  
And then at the little frown on Sören's face, he wished he hadn't said that, not wanting to make Sören sad by bringing up his ex.  
  
Sören nodded. "Well, yeah, he's English. I never made him tea in the microwave, I _do_ know how to make proper tea because of him." Sören turned around to get the half-and-half out of the fridge, and Nicholas saw Sören's shoulders shaking slightly, and he knew it wasn't from laughter this time.  
  
Without thinking about it, just feeling, Nicholas came up behind Sören and put his hands on Sören's shoulders. Sören leaned into Nicholas's touch, and Nicholas thought, then, about craning his head and stealing a kiss. But he didn't know if Sören would be receptive to that, and Sören being upset seemed to be the wrong time to make a move on him even if he knew Sören was receptive. He didn't want to come off like taking advantage. "My apologies. I shouldn't have brought him up -"  
  
"No, it's OK, Nick, I mean, I bring him up plenty." Sören sighed then. "It just hurts a bit more than usual today because..." Sören sighed again and looked down as he poured the half-and-half. "Forget it."  
  
"No, Sören, what is it? Because what?"  
  
Sören picked up Nicholas's cup of coffee and turned around, handing it to him. Their eyes met. "Today's his birthday. He's thirty-five today."  
  
"Ah."  
  
So Anthony was a little older than Sören, though not by much, only five years. _Quite a stretch from Sören's thirty to my sixty-six years._ Nicholas took his coffee and paused to sip it, then he put the cup down and started to make breakfast while Sören sat on the couch, watching.  
  
"I've been trying to not think about it, but..." Sören drank his coffee and scowled again.  
  
"Well, you almost _married_ him, Sören. I imagine he remembers your birthday, too."  
  
"He does. The last time I saw him was just before my last birthday, in November, completely by accident. I live right near where he works, so he happened to be at the coffee shop where I get coffee after work sometimes." Sören pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "It's just... it's frustrating. I'm already stressed out enough after, you know, the exorcism of Slarg yesterday."  
  
Nicholas chuckled at that - he found Sören's naming of a tumor delightfully eccentric and endearing - and Sören managed a small smile at the sound of his laughter. Then Sören went on, "So it's, you know. The perfect storm of exhaustion giving way to ugly feelings."  
  
"Sounds like you need a distraction."  
  
"Well, it's good that you came. I mean, I'd want to see you anyway, but."  
  
Nicholas's heart did a little dance, and then he chastised himself. _He thinks of you as a friend._ "How about after breakfast, we go shopping?" Nicholas couldn't resist. "We can get you a kettle."  
  
"OK." Sören snickered. "Even though it would give me great pleasure to make you tea in the microwave -"  
  
"Brat."  
  
" _Takk._ "  
  
Already, Sören sounded a little better and Nicholas smiled at him. Sören smiled back. Nicholas then suggested, "And I've been meaning to take you antiques shopping. So perhaps we could do that?"  
  
"I know a place, actually," Sören said, "if it's still open. The same place I got your pocket watch for Christmas."  
  
Nicholas felt a warm glow thinking about that thoughtful gift again, the trouble Sören must have gone to - and the expense - for someone he'd just met. Sören's kindness was one of the things Nicholas loved about him. "All right."  
  
"We'll have to go on the bus or the train, but I assume that's still OK?"  
  
"Yes, Sören, it's fine."  
  
"OK then."  
  
Nicholas made strawberry crepes and omelettes with cheese and mushroom. He found cooking for Sören to be satisfying - something he wished he could do more often. Briefly he entertained the fantasy of making breakfast in bed for Sören, taking care of him the day after a long surgery.  
  
Even more satisfying than the cooking was watching Sören eat. Nicholas enjoyed his own food too, but Sören's grunts and squeals of happiness, the way he stomped his feet and waved his fork around, so animated in his pleasure, made Nicholas feel like his labor had been well worth it.  
  
Sören wanted to get the dishes washed right away rather than letting them sit, and Nicholas gave Sören a little shove, not wanting Sören to have to work the day after such an intense surgery. "I'll take care of it," Nicholas said.  
  
"But... you cooked."  
  
"So? I don't mind, Sören. Really." Nicholas patted him, and immediately wished he hadn't, every little touch feeling like electricity going through him. Like fire.  
  
"OK, well, I'll go put some clothes on while you do that."  
  
As Nicholas washed the bowls and pans and plates and utensils, loading them into the dishwasher, his mind kept straying to the thought of Sören getting changed in his bedroom - the thought of Sören naked. He remembered Sören taking a shower at his place, seeing him clad only in a towel around his waist, how _delicious_ he looked. Nicholas felt himself hardening, and he tried desperately to shove those thoughts away, to think about something unappealing.  
  
Sören came out in a Nine Inch Nails T-shirt under a blue plaid flannel shirt, and faded jeans. Nicholas found the rough look of him strangely attractive, and he imagined Anthony must have felt the same way. Nicholas then thought about the paintings of Sören and Anthony coupling together... how beautiful they were, what a breathtaking sight they must have been when making love. He felt a flare of anger at Anthony for throwing that away, and fought the urge to take them on a detour to the nearby Lincoln's Inn so he could _yell_ at him.  
  
Sören and Nicholas walked to the bus stop and sat on the bench together, waiting; as they waited, Sören used the Internet on his cell phone to map a route to the antique shop, and showed Nicholas a housewares store nearby. "We can go to the housewares store first, it's closer to where the bus lets us off, if that's OK with you," Sören said.  
  
"It's quite all right with me, Sören." And then the thought came, unbidden, and he stopped himself from blurting it out: _I would follow you to the ends of the Earth._  
  
A few snowflakes drifted and Nicholas felt a chill through him, and not from the winter cold.  
  
Nicholas noticed Sören people-watching on the bus. Sören finally noticed him noticing, and gave a little sheepish grin. "I wish I'd brought my sketchbook," Sören said. "Even though I get nervous in crowds I just find people so... interesting to look at. Humans are so beautiful, looking all so different from each other. And having such different lives, different stories to tell. Each person is like a rare, precious stone, the only one of its kind." Sören glanced over at a young Muslim woman sitting near them, wearing a pretty pink flowered hijab that matched her long pink skirt, holding a baby with a mop of dark curls. The baby smiled at Sören and Sören smiled back and waved. The woman smiled too, and Nicholas couldn't help smiling at the way Sören's eyes softened, the obvious tenderness in him, the _warmth_.  
  
When their stop came, the woman and her baby were getting off at the same stop and Sören stepped back to let them go ahead. "Thank you," the woman said, and Sören said, "No problem, have a nice day," as they got off. The baby cooed and started waving again and Sören waved back, grinning.  
  
"I have a soft spot for kids," Sören said as they turned to head to the housewares shop.  
  
"I see." Nicholas was curious. "Do you think you'd specialize in pediatric neurosurgery, then?"  
  
Sören laughed. "You know, I get that all the time. But no. No, I'm trying to make consultant, actually."  
  
Nicholas nodded. He couldn't help asking, "Any particular reason you don't want to go into -"  
  
Sören answered before he finished the question. "Well, I mean, I like kids. I'm good with kids, from what I've been told, and kids usually like me for some reason. Maybe I had, like, seven kids in a past life or something." Sören laughed at his own joke, then he quickly sobered. "But I can't deal with seeing kids hurt, it breaks my heart. Right now maybe ten percent to a quarter of my cases are pediatric and that's bad enough. If that were my specialty it would be at least seventy-five percent of my caseload. I'd have a fucking breakdown."  
  
"That's understandable. I'm sorry if I hit a nerve, I just -"  
  
"No, you're fine. I get that you were curious. My working towards becoming a consultant is going to be special hell enough on its own."  
  
"I'm sorry," Nicholas said reflexively.  
  
"Don't be sorry." Sören put a hand on his shoulder and again, his touch was like fire. Nicholas's cock stirred in response, wanting to feel Sören's hands everywhere. To touch him in return. "I chose this life. This is what I signed up for."  
  
And then Nicholas said, "I don't know, from everything you've told me about it, it seems like this life chose you. It's a calling. It's your destiny, to be a healer."  
  
Another frisson went through Nicholas as he spoke those words, like they carried some weight he didn't completely understand. Sören paused in his tracks, and for a moment Nicholas worried he'd offended him, that maybe it sounded too close to religious sentiment from the former priest for his comfort - and even though Nicholas himself had long since stopped believing, he did find himself having "Catholic moments" every so often, where he couldn't shake the feeling that maybe things were not as cut-and-dried as no deities and no higher purpose, and the tyranny of the God he had once served, and the other gods of history. Nicholas was having another one of those moments, and if he didn't like it, he imagined Sören probably liked it even less.  
  
But then Sören resumed walking, smiling at him like he hadn't said anything particularly bothersome. "There's the store," Sören said, pointing two shops down.  
  
They went inside and were immediately greeted by a salesperson, all too eager to make a sale. "Good morning, loves," she said in that fake-syrupy way that grated on Nicholas. "Are you looking for anything in particular? May I help you?"  
  
"Kettles," Sören said.  
  
They followed the salesperson through a maze of high-end pots and pans and dinnerware and gadgets, to a rack of kettles on display in different colors and sizes, with shelves underneath full of boxes, each column of boxes corresponding to whichever kettle was on top. The salesperson hung back, watching them, and finally Nicholas shot her a look, thinking Sören would have an easier time deciding if someone wasn't breathing down his neck. The salesperson walked off, though Nicholas noticed she was just a few meters away in the glassware, watching them. Sören stroked his chin.  
  
"I don't know, do I want steel, which is more durable, or do I want something more decorative?" Sören mused aloud.  
  
"I think something more decorative would help brighten the place up a bit. Even something small like a kettle, on display on your stove, would go a ways."  
  
"All right. I like blue," Sören said, picking up the blue kettle on display and looking it over, then selecting the box from its column.  
  
"That's your favorite color?"  
  
Sören nodded, and Nicholas made a mental note of it.  
  
"Your living room is so nice," Sören said. "So much blue."  
  
"It's rather a muted blue, but yes. I wanted colors that resemble the sea. I always loved going to the sea when I was younger, especially when I got to visit French beaches with my grandparents and aunt and uncle."  
  
"Man, I'd love to go to a beach in France someday," Sören said.  
  
 _I'd love to take you,_ Nicholas thought, and kept himself from speaking it aloud, not wanting to scare Sören away.  
  
Sören didn't go to the cash register immediately, but browsed through the dinnerware sets and glassware. "If I start having you over more often, maybe I should invest in something, uh, fancier," Sören said.  
  
"Perhaps, but it isn't necessary. What's more important is what goes on the dishes." Nicholas smiled.  
  
"Thank you again for breakfast this morning."  
  
"It was my pleasure. I'd like to make it for you again."  
  
"I'd like that too." Sören gave a rueful laugh. "Just a question of time, with my crazy schedule."  
  
"It's a standing offer." _That's not all that's standing._ Looking into those sweet brown eyes, Nicholas felt himself getting hard again, and hoped Sören wouldn't notice, but Sören's eyes were taking in all of the dishes and glasses in their colors and patterns.  
  
After Sören paid for the kettle, they made their way a few blocks over to Theresa's Treasures. In the storefront window was a beautiful tapestry, Celtic knotwork with gold thread on a rich blue, and a marble fountain with two swans. Sören looked a little apprehensive about going in, and Nicholas wondered why, but then Sören took a deep breath and marched into the store, with Nicholas following.  
  
Though Sören had been quick to go into the store - a sort of "before I lose my nerve" walk - now he slowed down, looking around, and Nicholas's own pace was slow. Nicholas didn't know how he could have missed this place before, being an avid antiques collector as he was - just the wooden furniture near the entrance was enticing to him, though he didn't need any more. There were Chippendale desks and chairs and William and Mary dressers and tables and Art Nouveau and Art Deco shelves and endtables and lounges.  
  
Sören paused like he was waiting for something, or someone, and then a young woman approached. She was so short that at first Nicholas thought it was a child, but her curves said otherwise - she was full-figured, and a little heavyset. She had a sweet face with grey-blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, and a shock of red hair in a pixie cut. She was wearing jeans and a Sex Pistols T-shirt, and her arms sported full sleeve tattoos of flowering vines, the nails on her hands were long and painted black with skull decals on them; Nicholas noticed five earrings in each ear, and the young woman had a ring in her nostril. Nicholas had to do a double-take because for a moment he could have sworn the young woman had pointed ears, but that was just a trick of his mind.  
  
"How can I help you lads today?" the woman asked, with a heavy East End accent.  
  
Nicholas was a bit taken aback - he didn't know what he was expecting when he came here, but this was like no salesperson he'd ever seen. Sören looked a little confused, though Nicholas got the feeling it wasn't discomfort with the woman's appearance. "Oh... where's, um... the lady who usually works here? You know, the... ah... the hippie, with the scarf around her head, the long flowy skirts, she reads Tarot..."  
  
"Oh right, Theresa? She hired me," the young woman said. "She came in one day when I was working at me aunt's in Greenwich - well, me aunt is dead now, the woman who bought the shop from her didn't like me much but kept me on as a favor to her... anyway... Theresa just point-blank asked me if I wanted a job, so, uh. Hi." The young woman grinned and did a little wave. "Theresa's off today, and she works nights when she's here, I'm in charge during the day, though she still owns the place, keeps the books and stuff. You know her, or something?"  
  
"Or something," Sören said, nodding. "Anyway, we're just looking around..."  
  
"Oh, OK. If you need to know where anything is, give a holler, yeah? I'll be over at the register." The woman pointed to a register tucked near a display of vintage clothing and jewelry.  
  
Sören watched her intently as she walked off. "She's cute," Sören muttered.  
  
Nicholas raised an eyebrow - he was starting to get the impression Sören was a bit of a rake, and had probably been quite promiscuous before Anthony. Nicholas felt the need to change the subject, wishing Sören would feel that way about _him_. "So you know the proprietor?"  
  
"'Know' is kind of a strong word," Sören said. "When I came in here back in December, with Karen, so I could buy that pocket watch for your Christmas present, Theresa, the hippie lady who runs this place, gave me a Tarot reading. For free, mind you. I'm, you know, skeptical, but I went along with it, not seeing the harm in it. And it was... ah, forget it." Sören grabbed Nicholas by the arm and started dragging him along.  
  
Theresa's Treasures was the sort of shop where Nicholas felt he could spend an entire day and still not see everything there was to see. And Sören wasn't in a rush as he browsed. They took their time looking at the furniture, the rugs, the statues and sculptures and fountains, vases and decorative plates and glasses and cups and boxes, tea services, tables of rough and tumbled stones and crystals, old books, old-fashioned typewriters and sewing machines and lamps, an 8-track machine, record players, a couple of phonographs, an old grand piano and an ancient pipe organ. There was even a theremin, which Sören played with. Across the room, the young woman shot him a grin as Sören attempted to play a song on the theremin, and Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip before he grinned back, eyes dancing.  
  
After the theremin Sören got a little more serious about picking out some things for his flat. Sören picked out an area rug for the living room, an Oriental design in blues and greens, and there was a smaller area rug that Sören decided would be for his bedroom. "Near my bed, because the floor gets cold first thing in the morning," Sören said.  
  
Sören also decided to get a tall vase, teal blue carnival glass with a carving of three male peacocks displaying their feathers; Sören admired the iridescence as he turned it this way and that, catching the light. "I can get some dried flowers or something," Sören said. "But really, even without anything in it, it's beautiful."  
  
"That it is," Nicholas agreed.  
  
Sören frowned a little. "I wish I knew how to blow glass. If I ever had any time, or knew where, I'd want to take a glass-blowing class or something."  
  
Just what Sören already had was going to be a bit of a haul on the bus, but then Sören and Nicholas both froze as they made their way past the display of rugs and tapestries and there was a large wooden mirror, oval, set in a frame of rich mahogany - the frame was a carving of two birds, one on each side of the mirror, facing each other, wings spread, tails touching at the bottom.  
  
"There's that fucking mirror again," Sören said.  
  
Then Sören blushed, as if he seemed to realize how that sounded, but before he could say anything else, Nicholas nodded and said, "It's like the tattoo on your back."  
  
Sören nodded. "I saw this when I was in here with Karen back in December, and I thought about getting it then, but..." Sören shrugged. "You know... the painting I did that my tattoo is based from... I just saw that in my head. Like a vision, I guess. So finding this is... ah, it's a little scary."  
  
"I can imagine so." Without thinking about it, Nicholas ran his finger over the carved wood, enjoying the feel of it. His finger tingled slightly, and he withdrew his hand and looked at Sören, then at the mirror, then at Sören. He found himself having another one of his "Catholic moments", much as he disliked it when it happened - it felt like finding this mirror was not a coincidence, that Sören was _meant_ to have it somehow. "It's remarkable that it's still here, two months later, such fine work as it is."  
  
"Yeah." Sören walked around behind the mirror, and Nicholas knew he was looking at the price tag. Then Sören snorted. "Well, I can see why."  
  
"How much?"  
  
"Four hundred seventy five quid." Sören folded his arms and raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "I may be a doctor, but I'm not spending that much -"  
  
"I'll buy it for you."  
  
Now both of Sören's eyebrows shot up and his pupils were blown wide. "Nick, you... no. You can't. You -"  
  
"I was born into a rich family, I have more money than you think I do, I just live somewhat modestly."  
  
"I still feel bad, you spending four hundred seventy five quid on me -"  
  
"You're very dear to me." Their eyes met. "Money is no object to me when it's family. You ought to see some of the gifts I've given Karen and Geir."  
  
Sören exhaled sharply. "I mean, if you _want_ to, if it'll make you happy, I won't say no. I just... I'm not used to -"  
  
Nicholas put a hand on Sören's arm. It was like touching fire again, his cock throbbing in response. "I do want to, and yes, it would make me happy to get you something you want. And there's no strings attached. I'm not expecting you to get me something expensive in return, or..." Nicholas thought about ending the sentence with _sleep with me_ \- and that was true, Nicholas wasn't giving him the gift with the expectation that Sören would sleep with him in return, and Nicholas would want that to be of genuine desire, anyway, not a sense of obligation. But he also didn't want to give Sören the impression he _wasn't_ interested.  
  
Every word felt like navigating a minefield.  
  
Sören seemed to understand Nicholas meant _not expecting you to sleep with me for it_ , nodding. "OK. But maybe I might make you another painting."  
  
"I won't say no to that, Sören." Nicholas smiled, thinking of the lovely portrait of Tobias - all of the beautiful paintings he'd seen in Sören's portfolio. Now was not the time for his mind to conjure up the paintings of Sören and Anthony making love again, but there it was, Nicholas's cock throbbing again. "Your work is magnificent."  
  
Nicholas carried the mirror over to the cash register - even though it was heavy wood, it wasn't a terrible burden, though just the same Nicholas was glad it wasn't a long walk from the store to the bus stop, and from the other bus stop and Sören's flat, and that there was an elevator they could take to Sören's apartment. "This will be two separate transactions," Nicholas informed the young woman.  
  
"All right." The young woman smiled, and nodded.  
  
"Thank you, again, so much." Sören beamed at him, and then Sören threw his arms around Nicholas and hugged him right there. Nicholas felt a surge of joy as he put his arms around Sören, returning the hug, holding him close for a moment, petting those soft curls. Nicholas found himself smiling and rocking Sören a little, and Sören giggled and hugged him tighter.  
  
When they pulled apart, the young woman said, "You guys make a cute couple."  
  
"Oh. Er..." Nicholas's jaw dropped. He thought about correcting her, but no words came out.  
  
Then what Sören said surprised him. "I'm poly," Sören said, meeting the young woman's eyes.  
  
The woman put a hand on her hip. "Polly want a cracker?"  
  
Sören's laughter rang out. "That's terrible."  
  
"Thank you, thank you, I'm here all week." The woman looked at Nicholas. "Cash or credit, sir?"  
  
"Credit." Nicholas handed her one of his cards. He couldn't believe Sören hadn't corrected her - _maybe he just doesn't want to come off as rude_ \- but he also couldn't believe Sören was so forward about being non-monogamous, and Nicholas watched Sören watching the woman, like a wolf looking at a very tasty piece of food.  
  
The woman's cheeks were slightly pink and she kept looking at Sören, biting her lip. She handed Nicholas's card back to him and printed his receipt, and then it was time for Sören. "Cash or credit?"  
  
"Credit," Sören said, and handed her a card.  
  
As the woman performed the transaction, she said, "Would you like me to find a big shopping bag and some tissue paper for everything? We keep them in back -"  
  
"Oh, yes, that would be a big help with carrying all this around on the bus," Sören said, nodding eagerly.  
  
"OK. Be right back," the woman said, and Nicholas saw her _wink_ at him as she stepped out to the back room.  
  
"She's _really_ cute," Sören said, this time not muttering it. "I think I'm gonna ask her for her number when she gets back."  
  
Nicholas felt a twinge of anxiety - he knew these things were rarely cut-and-dried, and as he checked his watch it confirmed that the next bus was soon. "Well, be quick about it, otherwise we'll be here another hour waiting for the next bus."  
  
"Oh shit, yeah."  
  
The woman came back with a giant shopping bag and large sheets of tissue paper. She began wrapping up the vase. "This is so pretty," she said.  
  
"Yeah, that's what I thought when I saw it. I'm, you know. Trying to make my flat look less crap," Sören said.  
  
The woman snorted. "Me flat is godawful. I make better money since I started working here, Theresa is very generous, but I'm trying to be careful with it, you know? So I don't feel right about buying fancy things or trying to move someplace, uh, better, just yet."  
  
"That's understandable," Sören said.  
  
"Where are you from?" the woman asked. "If you don't mind me asking."  
  
"Iceland," Sören said.  
  
"Ooh, a real live Viking." The woman grinned and did a mock fainting swoon. "Someone save me, my shop's being pillaged!"  
  
Sören laughed. "I'm not a savage. Well... unless you ask nicely."  
  
The woman laughed, wadded up a piece of tissue paper, and threw it at Sören, who giggled, while Nicholas looked on in disbelief. He supposed Sören didn't acquire two partners by being a milquetoast, but he was still not used to seeing someone so _brazen_.  
  
"You're bloody awful. I like it," the woman said.  
  
 _No, what he is, is a rakehell,_ Nicholas thought, looking at Sören... Sören who was now sporting a devil-may-care grin.  
  
"I like that you like it..." Sören cocked his head to one side. "Sorry, didn't get your name."  
  
"Frankie. Short for Mary Frances."  
  
"That's cute. I'm Sören."  
  
"Nice to meet you, Sören."  
  
There was a pause, where Sören and Frankie kept making eye contact as Frankie continued to wrap the vase, and Frankie was starting to give him the _are you going to ask me out, or what?_ look, and then suddenly a cell phone went off - it was Frankie's. She facepalmed and groaned, and pulled the phone out of her pocket. When she looked at the number on the screen her eyes widened and she said, "Oh shit, it's me flatmate, I have to take this. I'll be back in a few minutes, sorry." She gave Sören an apologetic look and dipped into the back room and Nicholas could hear her yelling, "What is it, you cunt? I was talking to a cute boy out here..."  
  
Sören looked disappointed, and Nicholas sighed, not wanting Sören to shoot the messenger, but - "Sören, we can't wait for her. That bus is coming soon, and we have heavy things to carry which will make us walk a bit slower." Nicholas frowned, feeling bad for rushing him out of there.  
  
"Oh... OK." Sören sighed. "Let's get these rugs in the bag and..."  
  
Sören and Nicholas rolled up the rugs and put them in the bag, and then they were on their way. "You can always go back to the store sometime," Nicholas said as they headed back to the bus stop.  
  
"Yeah, whenever I have, you know, fucking _time._ " Sören frowned.  
  
Nicholas sighed. "I'm sorry."  
  
"It's not your fault."  
  
Those four words had a weight behind them, a sharp edge as if Sören were blaming himself, angry with himself, and Nicholas realized Sören's schedule affected his relationship with Anthony, and Sören was practically screaming _here it is affecting my relationship to date other people_. Nicholas felt for him - though he was a little irritated with himself for feeling a flood of relief, not wanting even more competition for Sören's time or at least _not right now_...  
  
 _Like you even stand a chance with him. That girl wasn't older than twenty-five, probably closer to twenty... and you're old enough to be Sören's father._  
  
Nicholas sat on the bench and closed his eyes.  
  
  
_  
  
  
The lift up to Sören's flat was not as small as the one at Nicholas's building, so although Sören was still visibly uncomfortable in the flat and having to take deep breaths to calm down, he wasn't panicking the way he did in the lift at Nicholas's place. Nicholas still ached to let go of the mirror and take Sören into his arms, hold him close...  
  
...kiss him.  
  
That urge was getting stronger and stronger all the time, so strong that Nicholas didn't know how much longer he was going to be able to keep it in check. He knew he risked everything if he did - Sören's anger, having a falling out with Karen and Geir... being alone again. So for the time being, he did not. But oh, those full lips tempted him.  
  
Sören's entire body was tempting him. Nicholas could see Sören, wearing just the towel, when he closed his eyes. Wanting to explore his body with kisses. Wanting to...  
  
The lift chimed, and they stepped out. Nicholas carried the mirror to Sören's door, and then inside, leaning it against the wall, grateful to be free of that burden for now. They took off their boots and then instead of wanting to relax, Sören wanted to get right to work. Sören pushed the coffee table over a few meters, unrolled the larger of the two rugs, and Sören took an end and Nicholas took an end and they set it down in the center of the hardwood floor... or what they thought was the center of the floor. Taking some steps back to look at it, they realized the rug wasn't centered and picked it up and moved it again. And then a third time, and at last it was "good enough," Sören said, pushing the coffee table back where it went.  
  
The next order of business was Sören putting the tea kettle in the sink to wash it before use, letting it soak in suds, and then Sören put the smaller rug by the head of his bed on the right-hand side. Then Sören unwrapped the vase and tried it in different locations around the open-plan living room and kitchen area - by the door on the floor, on the coffee table, on the kitchen counter, on the floor just before the short hall leading out to Sören's bedroom, the bathroom and the hall closet. Sören finally decided on the floor, underneath the Joan of Arc painting.  
  
It was time for the mirror, finally. Nicholas and Sören carried it in together. There was only one logical place for the mirror to go in Sören's bedroom - he had a short dresser and a tall dresser, and the mirror was long enough that it could only fit on the short dresser, unless it was on the floor itself, and Sören didn't want it on the floor. Sören and Nicholas put the mirror in the center of the short dresser and then stepped back to make sure it was centered. This time it was in fact centered on the first try, but the thing that bothered Nicholas about it was the clash of the mahogany wood with the black, boxy modern design of the dresser. Nicholas still felt Sören was meant to have the mirror, and it wasn't that the mirror itself was wrong, but this entire place was wrong. Once again, Nicholas got the urge to ask Sören to live with him. The mirror would go absolutely with the furniture Nicholas had in his bedroom, and in the guest room - which Nicholas had furnished long ago even though he rarely ever had guests before Karen and Geir came into his life. But the mirror matching Nicholas's furniture better felt like a microcosm of the way Sören fit into his life.  
  
 _You belong with me._  
  
Nicholas longed to say those words to him, to take the broken heart in his hands and pour all the love into it that he could, and he didn't.  
  
"You want me to rinse the kettle out and make you tea?" Sören asked, lips quirked with amusement. "Or do you just want coffee again?"  
  
"Coffee," Nicholas said, nodding. "I prefer loose-leaf tea and you don't have that."  
  
"I'll pick it up the next time I go grocery shopping," Sören said. "Though to be honest, I can't tell the difference between loose-leaf tea and tea from a bag, taste-wise."  
  
" _Blasphemy,_ " Nicholas said. "It's a subtle difference, to be sure, but there is one."  
  
"If you say so." Sören cackled. "Anthony thought that was scandalous too." Then Sören sighed, and Nicholas knew Sören was getting sad about his ex again. "I feel guilty, like I should call him, but I just." Sören shrugged.  
  
"Did he not cheat on you? Why would you want to go out of your way -"  
  
"I don't fucking know," Sören said. "I know it makes no sense. I." Sören sighed again and looked down, frowning.  
  
"Well, let's... get you away from those thoughts," Nicholas said. "How about you come back to my place and I make dinner for us? And you can give me that chess rematch."  
  
"OK." Sören nodded.  
  
And then what came out of Nicholas's mouth surprised him - and made him nervous, hoping it didn't come off the wrong way. "Since the game may run late, I don't mind if you spend the night."  
  
"OK. I go in at seven tomorrow."  
  
"Then you probably should count on spending the night, so you can get a proper rest without having to worry about the commute home."  
  
Sören nodded. "I'll pack an overnight bag."  
  
After they had coffee, Nicholas followed Sören into his room and watched him pack pajamas and fresh scrubs... Nicholas smiled as Sören packed the Pusheen blanket that Nicholas had given him for Christmas, and then, Sören got his stuffed tiger, Tony, and the bunny that Nicholas had repaired, Bláberja.  
  
Sören made the tiger tilt his head, looking up at Sören. "Why are you putting us in the bag? Where are we going?" Sören spoke in a high-pitched voice, making the tiger's head move.  
  
"We're going to my friend Nicholas's house for a sleepover," Sören said.  
  
The tiger looked at Nicholas, then back at Sören. "Who is he?"  
  
Then the bunny tapped the tiger on the shoulder and put an arm around him. "He's a very nice man," Sören said in a softer voice, almost a whisper; Nicholas also noticed Sören's accent was thicker. "I was injured and he fixed me up and made me all better."  
  
"Oh." The tiger looked at Nicholas again, and then nodded. "I guess he's OK, then."  
  
"He _is_ very nice," Sören said in his normal voice. "And he makes good food. And he has a cat."  
  
"He has a cat?" Sören made the tiger jump up and down, and clapped its paws. "I want to see the cat."  
  
Nicholas chuckled. His heart also ached - Sören was so _adorable_ , he wanted to hug him again, but he refrained.  
  
The hug came in the lift, as Sören tensed up again. Nicholas pulled him close, held him tight. Sören held Nicholas just as tight. "Daddy's here," Nicholas whispered, stroking Sören's curls. "It's all right."  
  
"I'm scared, Daddy."  
  
And then it came out before Nicholas could stop himself. "Hi Scared Daddy. I'm -"  
  
Sören gigglesnorted, and he poked the tip of Nicholas's nose. Nicholas tweaked Sören's nose in response. Then there was a long moment where they just looked into each other's eyes, and Nicholas felt that wild urge to kiss him...  
  
...the lift chimed, and Sören got out of there as quickly as he could, which Nicholas knew was because he couldn't take being in that small elevator shaft another second. Nicholas supposed he was saved by the bell, not wanting to frighten Sören away.  
  
Nicholas let Sören pick out a DVD while he cooked dinner, and to Nicholas's surprise Sören selected a ballet DVD - a performance of _La Sylphide_. Sören noticed Nicholas's look of puzzlement and explained, "I was never really into ballet until I met Geir, and, well, you, too. It's a beautiful art form, and I feel like I've been missing out."  
  
"It is indeed a beautiful art form," Nicholas said. "That's why I appreciate it. I have an eye for beauty." _Like you, my dear._  
  
Sören nodded. "I know. It's one of the things I appreciate about _you._ I can share, you know, artsy, aesthetic things with you. It's not that I _couldn't_ do that with Anthony, but..." And then Sören's voice trailed off and he turned pink.  
  
That _almost_ seemed to Nicholas like Sören was comparing him with his ex as if Nicholas had somehow replaced Anthony as Sören's beau, but Nicholas didn't want to get his hopes up that Sören thought of him that way. Instead, he focused his energy on chopping vegetables, but every now and again he stole glances at Sören, completely rapt as he watched the dancing on the screen. Sören seemed at his most beautiful when he was appreciating beauty - Nicholas could practically see the visions dancing in Sören's head, feel the fire burning in him, feel the _feeling_ , so deep, like Sören consumed everything and was also consumed by it, in love with the world, in love with the beauty of the world, in love with the beauty that lived in people's minds and hearts, loving so much it hurt.  
  
Nicholas loved him. He'd known that he was falling in love with Sören Sigurðsson, but he was even more sure of it now, feeling like his own heart was breaking with each slice of the knife.  
  
Nicholas made coq au vin, and poured the last of the bottle of wine into two glasses, handing one to Sören as he sat down to watch what he could of _La Sylphide_ while dinner cooked. Tobias sat with them, purring away as two pairs of hands stroked him.  
  
Sitting next to Sören was a fool's errand - Nicholas was dangerously aware of the proximity of Sören's body. Nicholas was suddenly too warm, but it wasn't just from the wine, or the woodstove, it was the heat Sören's body was throwing off, so close to his, so close that it made Nicholas tingle, his cock stiffening in his trousers, _wanting_. Again, he was so tempted to grab Sören and kiss him, to push Sören back against the pillows on the sofa and kiss him until kissing was the only thing in the world that existed. And instead he did not, he just sat there, noticing every little movement of Sören's body, right down to the rise and fall of his chest with his breathing, every blink of his eyes. And Nicholas could feel him, so close, yet so far. It felt like Sören was living in the pores of his skin, his cells.  
  
Nicholas was yearning to be one with Sören Sigurðsson the way he yearned to be one with God when he was a priest. For the first time, he understood the eroticism of the Song of Songs, the eroticism in so much ancient Church art and discourse. And it terrified him.  
  
It was getting hotter in the room all the time. Nicholas was starting to sweat, a little.  
  
"Sören... would you care to dine _al fresco_ , up on the rooftop, in the garden? I know it's a bit chilly this evening, but -"  
  
"Oh, I'd like that," Sören said. "Your garden is so pretty, even in the winter." Sören chuckled. "And you forget who you're talking to. I'm an Icelander, this winter is mild compared to what I'm used to."  
  
"Splendid. I shall go assemble our places."  
  
The fresh air helped a little, but Nicholas's body was still screaming with frustrated need as he went about the task of setting up the plates and utensils and glasses. He had brought up a fresh bottle of wine and he opened it, smelling the cork, smelling the open bottle. He wondered briefly if drinking tonight was a good idea - if he might lose a bit of his inhibitions and say something he'd regret later - but he couldn't not have wine with dinner when he was entertaining a guest. That was just not _done_.  
  
 _La Sylphide_ was over, and the coq au vin was done, and Nicholas prepared to take it up to the roof. "I'll get ready and then I'll be right out," Sören said.  
  
The few minutes Nicholas had to wait felt like an eternity. He lit candles and lanterns, and the strings of fairy lights were turned on, providing a nice ambiance. As Nicholas sat there, he worried that it might be too much - that it might look like he was trying to seduce Sören, and that might look really, really bad after buying him that mirror that was almost five hundred quid. He didn't want Sören to feel uncomfortable or pressured or triggered in any way...  
  
...and before he could think better of it and get up to start frantically snuffing out the candles, he heard Sören's footsteps up the steps. The door to the terrace opened, and Sören came out wrapped in his Pusheen blanket like a shawl... and was carrying Tony and Bláberja.  
  
Nicholas couldn't help laughing at Sören's antics - so adorable; again that ache, loving Sören's sweet innocence - and Nicholas laughed harder as Sören put them in chairs at the table. "Dinner smells fabulous," Sören said.  
  
"It's coq au vin. I hope you like it."  
  
Sören had taken a sip of his wine and he choked a little, and Nicholas felt alarm - and then he saw Sören shaking with silent laughter, his brown eyes dancing. "I'm sorry," Sören said.  
  
It took Nicholas a moment and then he got it. "Oh dear," Nicholas said, facepalming.  
  
Sören made Tony's paw go to his mouth. "You said a bad word," Tony said.  
  
"I did not," Nicholas said, then realized he was arguing with a stuffed animal... or a grown man puppeting a stuffed animal. "Coq is French for chicken -"  
  
Sören snorted again, and Nicholas rolled his eyes.  
  
"You are _terrible_ ," Nicholas said, though now he was trying not to laugh, too. "Now eat, you horrid brat."  
  
Sören batted his eyes, giving Nicholas an innocent face that wasn't innocent at all, and then he helped himself to a generous portion from the pot - and there was plenty. After Sören served himself, Nicholas took what he wanted out of the pot.  
  
Sören took a few bites of food and then he closed his eyes with rapture. "Oh god, this is so fucking good," Sören said with his mouth full. He quickly chewed and swallowed and said, "Er, manners, sorry."  
  
"It's fine," Nicholas said, amused more than annoyed. "I'm glad you enjoy it."  
  
Sören smirked. "Hi Glad You Enjoy It, I'm -"  
  
Nicholas kicked Sören under the table. Sören kicked him back.  
  
Nicholas had a portable stereo on the terrace and now he put on opera. He was in a good enough mood that he found himself singing along as they ate, and Sören watched with something like awe on his face. Finally when the meal was over - Sören had seconds and there would still be leftovers - Sören leaned back in his seat, sipping his wine, and said, "You know, you have a good voice."  
  
"Thank you," Nicholas said. "Singing's just a hobby for me, not something I'd consider professionally -"  
  
"Well, it's still nice," Sören said. "Honestly, your speaking voice is nice too. You could recite a grocery list and it would still sound marvelous."  
  
Nicholas laughed. Then Nicholas spoke the truth, emboldened by the wine. "I love the sound of your accent."  
  
"Oh... _takk._ " Sören ran a hand through his curls, then rubbed his beard. "I get that a lot. Er, Anthony liked it. And, ah, Karen and Geir like it."  
  
Once again, it sounded like Sören was thinking of Nicholas as one of his partners, and Nicholas thought about asking Sören about it, but he did not. He might have been a little less inhibited from the wine, but he was trying to keep his wits about him, not wanting to smash everything to hell. All he could think of was Karen and Geir's disapproval, judging their age difference... feeling like their dad was taking away their boyfriend.  
  
"So, you said you like Led Zeppelin," Sören said.  
  
Nicholas welcomed the change of subject, an intrusion into his pining. "I do."  
  
"Do you have them on vinyl?"  
  
"I do."  
  
"Oh, _awesome._ " Sören's eyes were wistful. "I'd love to listen to them on vinyl sometime, if you don't mind."  
  
"I don't."  
  
"It would, ah... remind me of my mamma, and her record player. I told you once that Led Zeppelin was my mamma's favorite band. That and Electric Light Orchestra. So I heard them all the time when I was little. When I operate I usually do it to Rush, or Led Zeppelin. Mamma said Rush was Pabbi's favorite band."  
  
"It's good that your mother raised you with an appreciation of music," Nicholas said. "Would I be correct to assume she instilled a love of art in you, as well?"  
  
Sören nodded. "And she read to us. She was..." Sören sighed. "Sometimes I wonder how my life would be different if she survived. Growing up with my brother's sister Katrín and her awful husband Einar, they were like the direct opposite of my mamma. They had no appreciation for art, or music, or books. They thought my drawing was a waste of time. It..." Sören closed his eyes and chugged the rest of his wine. "Fuck it, I'm sorry. I'm always bringing up bad shit from my past and I'm such a downer -"  
  
"Sören, you're not a downer. That is not even a word."  
  
Sören looked at Nicholas, and then he laughed, and Nicholas managed a smile, glad that his pedantry elicited laughter rather than offense.  
  
"I like you," Sören said.  
  
"I like you too, Sören." Nicholas gave him a stern look. "I wish you would stop beating yourself up in these moments when you confide in me. That's what friends are for. That's what family is for. You were hurt, you need to talk about it to _someone_ , I'm honored that you trust me enough to do so."  
  
"OK." Sören nodded, and then he said, "Friends," and looked down at his empty plate with what looked like the barest hint of a sigh. Nicholas wondered about his reaction. "I'll do the dishes and then we can start that game of chess, já?"  
  
Sören did the dishes, and when he put away the leftovers a little bit of wine spilled on his shirt. "I might as well get changed into my pajamas now," Sören said.  
  
"All right."  
  
"Do you mind if I take a shower? Usually I take them in the morning but I just started my day today without -"  
  
"It's fine, Sören." Nicholas felt his heart racing again, his blood boiling at the delicious thought of Sören naked in his bathroom.  
  
Nicholas got aroused enough that by the time Sören was done with his shower, Nicholas was rock-hard. Nicholas went upstairs to put on his own pajamas and reached the top of the stairs just as Sören was coming out in a towel again, looking more delectable than any man had a right to. Nicholas made a mad dash for the bathroom, arthritic knees twinging all the way, and he brought himself off quickly, biting back the cry as his seed spilled over his hand before he could aim for the wad of toilet paper he'd readied. He'd also made a mess on his underwear and trousers, so now he would indeed have to change his clothing.  
  
Sören was waiting downstairs in his pajamas, the chessboard set up and ready, when Nicholas made it downstairs. Nicholas made hot chocolate for them both and then the game started, with Nicholas going first.  
  
The game lasted just over two hours, and this time Nicholas made fewer errors, but Sören still managed to beat him - less humiliatingly than last match, but Nicholas felt a little embarrassed anyway. And there was Sören doing that little victory dance again, and that gesture with his arms that the kids called "dabbing". Sören sat down and Nicholas said, "One of these days, I'm going to beat you."  
  
"One of these days." Sören grinned. "But today was not that day."  
  
"No, but we should have a rematch soon." Nicholas raised an eyebrow. "Maybe even a wager."  
  
"Ooh, gambling?" Sören's grin got even bigger. "It'll be even more fun to kick your ass next time."  
  
Nicholas snorted. "If I win, you have to clean my entire flat. Including dusting. Including scrubbing the bathrooms." That would be a load off of Nicholas's arthritis, much as he didn't want to be coddled and preferred to do as much for himself as he could.  
  
"OK, and if I win..."  
  
Nicholas dared to hope for a split second that Sören would wager sexual favors - he still couldn't believe how bold Sören was with that girl Frankie at the antiques shop - but then Sören said, "You have to cook for me for an entire week. Breakfast and dinner."  
  
 _I'd do that anyway._ Nicholas met Sören's eyes. "You're on."  
  
Tobias came back over to them, yawning and stretching as if he'd just gotten up from a nap, and Sören looked over at the grandfather clock. "It's getting late," Sören said; it was just before ten and Nicholas knew that wasn't terribly late but Sören would want to wake up at five if he had to go in at seven tomorrow, and Nicholas himself was routinely up at five-thirty. Sören looked back at Nicholas and cocked his head to one side. "Did you want to go to bed now?"  
  
Nicholas wondered if Sören was offering to go to bed with him, but Nicholas thought Sören would likely be a bit more direct about it rather than leaving anything ambiguous, like this sentence was, so it was just wishful thinking as usual. "Soon," Nicholas said, and then explained, "I usually do tai chi before I go to bed. I don't always remember every night, sometimes I'm just that tired I go straight to bed, but I remember most nights." _God, I'm rambling like an idiot._  
  
"Oh! Do you want to show me that beginner video like you said you..."  
  
"Yes."  
  
Nicholas put in the DVD, and for the first few minutes Sören just watched, then Sören practiced along with the beginning moves, done in slow motion, and then finally at the regular pace along with the instructor. Then Nicholas turned off the video and he and Sören did the beginning moves together.  
  
On the one hand, Nicholas was glad to find another thing to share with Sören - this was something they could do together when he visited. _This is something we could do every night if he lived with me,_ Nicholas thought to himself, feeling a pang. Doing tai chi with Sören made Nicholas feel closer to Sören, like he was letting Sören into a part of his life that not even Geir or Karen got to see. But on the other hand, doing tai chi with Sören made Nicholas even more aware of his body... watching Sören move with the fluid grace of the meditation made Nicholas hunger for him even more, thinking about what it would be like for them to move their bodies together in other ways.  
  
"I liked that," Sören said when they were done.  
  
"I liked that too."  
  
"I can see why you do that. It feels very... peaceful." Sören frowned a little. "That doesn't seem quite like the right word for it."  
  
"No, it really transcends words, doesn't it?" Nicholas asked, and Sören nodded. Then Nicholas found some leftover courage from the wine and he told Sören something very intimate, that he hadn't shared with anyone else. "When I left the Church, for a long time I wanted nothing to do with religion, or spirituality. I still don't, for the most part, but... there was still a void. I used to find prayer calming, and I didn't want to go back to that, praying to someone that wasn't there, but I felt I needed to do _something_. I thought about taking Transcendental Meditation when that was getting popular, but that still felt too much like religion. I did, however, decide _some_ form of meditation might help fill that void. So tai chi it was. I've been practicing tai chi since I was thirty-six, so we're coming up on thirty years now. I find it soothing in the way I used to find prayer soothing. And perhaps moreso, because..." Nicholas stroked his beard thoughtfully, and found the words to tell this to another person for the first time. "Prayer is talking to God, and hoping that He'll listen, and possibly do something about it. Tai chi is connecting with... well, some say it's the life force, but it feels like... the god within yourself. The divine potential in each person, and... directing that." Nicholas felt sheepish then, remembering Sören was an atheist, and how uncomfortable he'd been with the mention of Tarot earlier. "I'm rambling, sorry. Just a foolish old man -"  
  
"That wasn't rambling at all." Their eyes met. "That was beautiful. Thank you for... for telling me that." Sören patted his arm, and Nicholas's cock throbbed again, even though he'd brought himself off in the bathroom earlier. "And I feel honored that you shared something so meaningful with me."  
  
"It feels nice to have someone to share that with." _Share my life with me, Sören. I love you._  
  
Their eyes held, and for a moment Nicholas wondered if Sören was going to hug him, or even kiss him, and Nicholas was aching to do the same. But finally Sören looked at the clock again and said, "OK, we should call it a night."  
  
They went upstairs together, and Sören went to the guest bedroom, and Nicholas to the master bedroom. Sören lingered for a moment before stepping in, and then Sören said, "Good night, Nick. Sleep well."  
  
"You too."  
  
  
_  
  
  
" _Hættu!_ "  
  
The scream woke Nicholas with a start. Tobias, who was sleeping on the pillow next to Nicholas, woke up with a "Prrrp?"  
  
Then Nicholas heard another cry. " _Hjálpið! Hleyptu mér út!_ "  
  
Nicholas threw off the covers and dashed across the hall to where Sören was writhing in his bed, flailing at the air. Nicholas put on the light and climbed onto Sören's bed, pulling Sören into his arms. "Sören. You're having a bad dream."  
  
" _Hjálpaðu mér_..."  
  
"Sören. Wake up. It's just a nightmare." Nicholas gently shook him.  
  
Sören's eyes opened. "Pabbi?"  
  
That word went straight to Nicholas's heart. His arms tightened around the younger man, aching for whatever had terrorized him so in his sleep, when he got such precious little rest with his hours... and aching for the hurt boy in Sören, who needed a father figure.  
  
"That's right," Nicholas said, stroking Sören's curls. "Daddy's here, little one." He pulled Sören close and began to rock him. "It's all right. It was just a bad dream. Daddy's here. You're safe now."  
  
"Daddy," Sören said, and began to sob.  
  
"Oh, Sören." Nicholas felt a tight ache in his throat and he felt tears sting his own eyes. "Sören, little one. It was just a nightmare. You're here. You're safe."  
  
"I'm sorry," Sören wept. "I didn't mean to wake you -"  
  
"Hush." Nicholas took Sören's chin in his hand and tilted Sören's face up, looking him in the eye. "You didn't ask to have a bad dream. It happens. It's OK."  
  
Nicholas glanced over at the alarm clock, and so did Sören - it was two-thirty-three in the morning. Sören would be waking up in less than three hours, but Nicholas still felt that Sören needed to try to go back to sleep, to get what sleep he could for another day of surgery, so he could be fresh.  
  
"Do you want to talk about it?" Nicholas asked, continuing to stroke Sören's curls. "Sometimes when things are scary, it helps to talk about them, to make them less scary."  
  
"It was bad." Sören closed his eyes and exhaled sharply. He met Nicholas's eyes again and tears slid down his cheeks. "It was just... my brain being a dick."  
  
"Well, you can still tell me, if you want to."  
  
"OK." Sören nodded, took a deep breath, and then he said, "It started off with me reliving the memory of the day I came home and found Anthony in bed with another man."  
  
" _Mon Dieu._ " That itself sounded like a nightmare, and Nicholas felt a flare of anger. It was going to take him every ounce of his restraint not to march over to Lincoln's Inn _today_ and...  
  
 _Don't. Do not. Besides, what would you even tell the man? You love Sören?_  
  
"So I left him... like I did in real life... and then I was moving into my place in Holborn. In real life there was a gap of three days between me being in the hotel and when I got my studio, but anyway..." Sören sighed. "I was in my flat in Holborn, and I was crying, and then Katrín and Einar found me, and told me to stop crying, and then they were dragging me off and Katrín put me in the closet, like she used to when I was being bad when I was little..."  
  
"I highly doubt you were being _bad_ , Sören - from what you told me it was when you were too loud or too hyper, which seems like... normal child behavior, that she just couldn't tolerate... and even if you _were_ misbehaving, it didn't justify her shutting you in a damned closet. Not at all." Now Nicholas was even angrier.  
  
"Well, that was my dream." Sören's eyes were full of tears. "I'm thirty fucking years old now and I still have nightmares about being in a fucking closet when I was a kid."  
  
"You have PTSD," Nicholas said. "I don't know if you've ever been formally diagnosed with it, but that's very much what it sounds like."  
  
Sören nodded. "I'm damaged goods, I know that -"

“Sören, no." Nicholas felt a flare of anger all over again. “I will not sit here and listen you insult yourself in front of me like that. You are _not_ damaged goods, and you were _not_ bad." Sören started to cry again, and Nicholas realized his tone was harsh, and that was not what Sören needed when he was coming down from a nightmare that made him scream out. Nicholas's tone was softer as he stroked Sören's cheek, not thinking about it. "You are a good boy, Sören." And then he pulled Sören back into his arms, rocking him once more. "You are a good boy. You're Daddy's good boy."  
  
Sören fell apart, crying and crying. Nicholas didn't want to cry himself - he felt he needed to be strong for Sören - but a few tears spilled nonetheless, hurting for the way Sören hurt, wishing there was something, anything, he could do to make it better.  
  
"Do you want me to hold you for awhile?" Nicholas asked. "Will that help?"  
  
Sören nodded. "Please, Daddy."  
  
Nicholas got up, shut off the light, and watched Sören get back under the covers. He tucked Sören in up to his chin, which got a weak smile out of Sören, and then in the glow of the nightlight Nicholas found the Pusheen blanket Sören had brought and put it on top of the covers... and then Nicholas grabbed Tony, and Bláberja, and put them in Sören's arms. Sören squeezed them and rocked them a little, and Nicholas was touched by the sight of it. Nicholas got in on the other side of Sören then - the bed was just big enough for two people; his bed in the master bedroom was a bit bigger - and he pulled Sören against him, with the stuffed animals snuggled between them. Sören cried a little more, until there was an added weight on the bed and Nicholas heard Tobias come towards them, purring.  
  
"Look who came here to see you," Nicholas said.  
  
Tobias gave Sören a concerned look. "Prrr-rowrrr?"  
  
"Oh, Toby." Sören reached out to skritch him. "I'm OK, Toby. Or you know, I will be. Our daddy takes good care of us, doesn't he?"  
  
"Prrrp," Tobias said, headbutting Sören, and then the cat settled down to curl up on both of them, purring and kneading.  
  
"That's a good boy," Nicholas said, giving Tobias a few strokes, and then he stroked Sören's curls, his beard. "That's a good boy."  
  
Sören giggled.  
  
"Here." Nicholas's arms tightened around Sören. "Rest, little one."  
  
Sören cried silently for a few minutes more, and finally stopped crying and his breathing slowed. Nicholas watched him in the glow of the nightlight, and assumed Sören had gone to sleep, but then Sören's eyes opened - he saw Nicholas was watching him, and for a split second Nicholas panicked, worrying Sören would think that was creepy - and then Sören said, "It's fucking hot in here." Sören sat up, peeled off his shirt and let it haphazardly drop to the floor. Nicholas was of a mind to get up, pick the shirt up off the floor, fold it neatly and put it on top of Sören's duffel bag in the chair next to the bed, but he resisted - mostly because Sören felt too cozy.  
  
And now he felt delicious, the petal-soft skin, the silk of his skin over the steel of his lithe, willowy frame. Nicholas's body started to scream in frustration again, and it didn't help that Sören had pulled back the covers some and now in the nightlight Nicholas could see Sören's pierced nipples, hard in the chill of the night air.  
  
 _Good god._  
  
But then Sören's breathing slowed again, and at last he began to make the little snores that indicated he was asleep. Nicholas watched him sleep, his own eyes getting heavy. Fatigue won out over arousal and soon Nicholas joined him in the land of slumber.  
  
The alarm had never been so much of a rude awakening, and both Nicholas and Sören groaned when it went off. Sören didn't get out of bed right away, and Nicholas just held him, noticing Sören wasn't falling asleep yet either, but seemed content to lay there in Nicholas's arms for awhile.  
  
Then Nicholas felt something hard against his thigh, and Sören made a face. "Gotta piss," Sören said, and climbed out of bed.  
  
Nicholas went downstairs to make coffee. Sören came down a few minutes later, changed into his scrubs. "Hi," Sören said when he walked into the kitchen.  
  
"Hello."  
  
"MOW," Tobias said.  
  
Nicholas chuckled and opened a can of Tobias's food. "Would you like to do the honors?" he asked, handing the plate to Sören.  
  
Nicholas watched with amusement as Sören brought the plate over to Tobias's food mat, with Tobias circling his ankles, meowing excitedly. Tobias let out one last plaintive meow just before Sören set the dish down, and Tobias gave Sören a headbutt as if to say "thank you" once the plate was set down, before digging in. "Cats," Sören said.  
  
"Indeed. That's what I deal with every morning."  
  
"There are worse things to deal with."  
  
"Far worse." Nicholas nodded.  
  
Sören looked like he wanted to say something, and Nicholas _felt_ like he wanted to say something but didn't know what to say, and finally Sören said, "So, um, thank you for... holding me, and stuff, last night."  
  
"You're welcome. You needed it."  
  
"I'm sorry if that fucked up your sleep or anything -"  
  
"No." Nicholas wasn't yet quite so bold to tell Sören how he felt, but he was bold enough to say something close to it. "Truth be told, I think I slept better next to you."  
  
"Yeah, it was... cozy." Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls and rubbed his beard. "I'm sorry for, um. Uh." Sören gestured below his waist.  
  
"Oh, that. Well, I am a man, Sören, I understand how physiology works and how that happens in the morning. It still happens to me in the morning sometimes, too."  
  
"OK. I'm glad you're not offended."  
  
Nicholas needed to lighten the conversation somehow. "Hi Glad You're Not Offended -"  
  
Sören made a face, and Nicholas gave him a teasing little smile. "Now you're a brat," Sören said.  
  
"It must run in the family."  
  
Sören laughed at that.  
  
Nicholas made them toast with strawberry preserves, and bacon. Tobias begged until he got a tiny piece of bacon from Sören, and a scolding finger-wag from Nicholas.  
  
Just as Sören was about to do dishes, the cell phone went off in Sören's pocket. Nicholas raised an eyebrow and looked at the grandfather clock - it was not yet six.  
  
Sören glared at his phone as he took it out of his pocket, and answered with a very curt, "Jæja?" There was a man's voice on the other end - British from the sound of it, though Nicholas couldn't place the accent, muffled as it was - and Sören's eyes widened. "Shit. Uh, you need me to come now, já?"  
  
Nicholas realized that was Sören's job, and sure enough, Sören mouthed _The National_ to Nicholas, before Sören said, "Mhm. Uh-huh. OK, I'm on my way, I'll be there as soon as possible."  
  
Sören ended the call and groaned. "Fuck."  
  
"You have an early start, I take it?"  
  
"We got a trauma," Sören said. "Head wound, car accident. I have to go go go, right now."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"So am I."  
  
"Shall I accompany you in the lift, at least?"  
  
"Please."  
  
Nicholas was disappointed - he knew Sören would have to leave before seven anyway, but he'd been hoping for just a little bit more time, wanting to squeeze every last available minute out of the visit. Sören bounded upstairs and came back with his duffel bag, taking a puff on his inhaler, and Nicholas walked him out to the lift, still in his own pajamas.  
  
Nicholas held Sören on the way down. Not wanting to let go. He could have _cried_ when they let go.  
  
This time, he stepped out into the lobby. "Well, thank you for your company," Nicholas said.  
  
"You're welcome. I'll see you on Saturday morning at The Raven's Roost, já? And possibly maybe on my break between now and then?"  
  
Nicholas just nodded.  
  
Sören took a step, and then he paused, looked over his shoulder - Nicholas hadn't gone back in the lift yet - and Sören turned around. For a brief instant Nicholas wondered if Sören was going to run into his arms, hug him, kiss him...  
  
"Nick, can I ask you, uh, kind of a personal question? It's something that's been bugging me for awhile."  
  
Nicholas looked around - it was just them in the lobby. He was still wary of discussing his personal business in a semi-public place like this, but... "All right."  
  
"OK." Sören took a deep breath. "Why did you leave the priesthood?"  
  
"Oh. Well... that's a long story..."  
  
"OK, give me the short version."  
  
Nicholas wondered why Sören was asking this, and now of all times, and then he had the horrific thought that maybe Sören worried he had been one of _those_ kinds of priests, so as much as this story pained him, he had to say something. "I had a mentor, a fellow priest, someone I was close to for a number of years, someone who I considered my best friend. A bit older than myself, by about twenty years or so. I idolized him, I had him on a pedestal. And then he came crashing down, when I found out that he had a rather dark secret." Nicholas cringed. "He was... inappropriate... with boys. Underage boys. Children."  
  
"Oh, _Jesus._ "  
  
"Yes. Needless to say when I found out I was horrified, and sick to my stomach. I did a bit of amateur detective work to catch him in the act, and then like an idiot, I gloated to him about it - I was so angry with him, you see - and I told him I was bringing him down, I was going to the police. And he told me that if I did that... he was going to out me."  
  
"When you say out, you mean..."  
  
"As you know, Sören, I'm gay."  
  
Sören blinked. "Actually, I _didn't_ know that."  
  
Now it was Nicholas's turn to blink in surprise. "You mean Geir didn't tell you? Or Karen?"  
  
"Uh, no. Probably because it's, you know. Not OK to out someone without their knowledge or permission." Sören cocked his head to the side. "So you're gay?"  
  
"Yes. And he knew this. I had never been in a relationship or... intimate... with anyone, at that point, but I'd confided to my mentor about my feelings, which I struggled with because the Church says homosexuality is a sin. And my mentor had told me I could serve God if I remained celibate. And he did this whilst he was _molesting children._ So he told me if I exposed him, he was going to out me, and when I mean out me, I mean not simply to the Church, but publicly. This was before my thirtieth birthday, I turned thirty in 1978. It wasn't safe to be out then. I risked _everything_ if I was outed."  
  
"What did you do?" Sören bit his lip, his eyes wide.  
  
"I resigned from the Church and then I gave an anonymous tip to the police, delivering the evidence I had. Of course, the Catholic Church was buying the police at that time, so nothing was ever done about it, even though I tried a few more times to have him brought to justice. To my knowledge, this priest is still in the cloth, still molesting boys." Nicholas sighed. He felt deeply, deeply ashamed, wishing there had been more he could do.  
  
"God, Nick. I'm... I'm sorry you had to deal with all of that."  
  
"So am I. And it was... it was difficult for me. I lost my faith as a direct result of that, not knowing how a loving God could punish me for something I could not help, and at the same time permitted so much evil in the world." Nicholas looked away, feeling very tired and very old all of a sudden. "I'm sorry, Sören, I know this probably isn't how you wanted to start your morning."  
  
"Well, I mean, I'm the one who asked. I had a feeling if you left the Church it wasn't for something trivial."  
  
"Did you think I..." Nicholas met his eyes, hoping - and almost praying - that Sören hadn't thought he was _like that_.  
  
"No, honestly I asked because... I was wondering if you were gay or not, and that's why you left."  
  
"Well, now you have an answer. I'm gay."  
  
Sören grinned, and Nicholas knew it was coming. "Hi Gay, I'm Sören."  
  
"What you are, is needing to hie thee to work for that trauma case."  
  
"Shit, yeah, you're right. OK. Well, thank you for answering that and... you know, being honest."  
  
"You're welcome, Sören." Nicholas almost added _thank you for asking that_ , but remembering that part of his past - even as it was never very far, as it had radically changed his life so - was painful to him, and he was wondering _why_ Sören was wondering if he was gay. Did that mean anything? He was afraid to get his hopes up, didn't want them to all come crashing down around him.  
  
As he rode the lift back to his flat, Nicholas ached to have Sören in his arms once more. And he felt like that question had changed something between them, somehow, though what remained to be seen. All he knew was that it would be very strange to see Sören again on Saturday morning.


	8. Ache

Sören hesitated outside the doors of The Raven's Roost, feeling a flare of anxiety. He took a deep breath and pushed on ahead, marching into the cafe. Nicholas and Karen were already at a table, and Karen beamed and waved in greeting, while Nicholas offered a smaller smile, his dark eyes shining and crinkling at the corners, cheeks flushed pink. Nicholas rose and pulled out a chair for Sören.  
  
" _Takk_ ," Sören said, taking a seat.  
  
"I didn't order for you because I didn't know if you wanted a full English like last time or if you would have something different," Nicholas said. "But if the full English will be your usual I can start ordering that so you'll have less of a wait time -"  
  
Sören waved a hand dismissively. "You were right not to assume I'd want the same thing every time. I like a bit of variety." As soon as it was out of his mouth, Sören felt his face burn. _That applies to my sex life, too._ Sören reflexively glanced over at Karen and saw her bite her lip and shake with silent laughter, also turning pink, and knew she was thinking the same thing. Karen kicked him under the table, stealing a naughty look as she feigned interest in her coffee.  
  
Sören then stole a glance across the table at Nicholas. Either Nicholas hadn't caught it or he was too polite to give any indication that he'd caught it. Sören's face burned hotter anyway, and his stomach started doing those flip-flops that Nicholas tended to induce in him, but harder than usual.  
  
This, of course, was why Sören had paused in front of the doors of the cafe and had to make himself push inside. Sören was excited to see Nicholas again, but now he felt even more shy and awkward around him than he had before. Knowing Nicholas was gay, beyond the shadow of a doubt, changed nothing - he was still the same man Sören had gotten to know since December - and yet it changed everything at the same time.  
  
For starters, Sören felt like an idiot because he hadn't known for certain until just a few days ago. He'd wondered, he'd suspected, but he hadn't been absolutely 100% sure until Nicholas had come out to him... and the "as you know" hadn't been lost on him, like Nicholas assumed Sören had a better gaydar. And though Sören had been in the gay scene since he was seventeen, and he was a doctor and made diagnoses for a living, Sören didn't think his gaydar was always reliable. He tried not to assume everyone he met was straight, but he also didn't assume everyone was bisexual or gay. If there was one thing that having a trans woman for a sister had taught him, it was not to assume people's gender or sexual orientation. As it was, he wouldn't have necessarily picked up on the fact that Anthony Hewlett-Johnson was gay on their first meeting. And though Nicholas fit many of the gay male stereotypes - being a bit of a dandy, having interest in antiques, opera, ballet and theater, the arts, cooking and gardening, having a cat instead of a dog - Sören didn't feel like it was fair to just assume he was gay. Nonetheless, Sören felt stupid, like it was blatantly obvious in hindsight.  
  
But even more than that, Sören was digesting this information and what it _meant_. There was no denying he was attracted to Nicholas, and it was getting worse and worse to the point of being intolerable, where he knew he was either going to have to do something about it soon or find a polite way to start distancing himself because being around him was too painful. Nicholas not being straight meant there was a non-zero chance Nicholas was mutually interested. And yet, Sören knew firsthand that not all queer men fancied every non-heterosexual man that walked - he'd hit it off right away with Karen's younger brother Ben and his partner Pierre, but he was very sure they weren't into him like that and while he thought they were lovely people and he was fond of them, Sören wasn't really interested in them either. The fact was, Sören had lay all night in Nicholas's arms and Nicholas had not put a single move on him. Sören had been alone with Nicholas more than a few times now and Nicholas had never given any indicator that he wanted anything more than friendship. Sören knew that perhaps there was a chance Nicholas was avoiding saying or doing anything about an attraction for the same reason Sören had been avoiding it - not wanting to upset Karen and Geir, not wanting to come off as creepy and inappropriate. But Sören wondered if Nicholas thought of him as just another one of "his kids", too young, and his interest was strictly fatherly.  
  
Even with moments like this one, where after Sören ordered, Nicholas asked, "How's my special boy?"  
  
Sören's heart beat a little faster. "I'm OK, Daddy." Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip, and wondered if Nicholas knew he meant 'daddy' in the flirtatious, gay male sense, or not.  
  
And with the way Nicholas was smiling at him - the way his eyes shone, the way his cheeks flushed - if it had been some random guy that Sören knew happened to be gay, Sören would assume that guy was interested. But Sören couldn't make that assumption with Nicholas. "I'm glad you're doing all right. I know you worked late yesterday evening, you must be exhausted."  
  
"Very," Sören said. "That's why I didn't want to come straight to your place after work, Karen," he went on, glancing over at Karen. "I would have just crashed."  
  
"It's OK, Sören. At least we get tonight." Karen gave him a peck on the cheek.  
  
"Where's Geir, practicing?" Sören asked.  
  
Karen nodded. "He'll be home in the afternoon, so you'll get to see him after we leave here and go back to our place."  
  
"It's unfortunate you have to work tomorrow evening," Nicholas said, giving Sören a little frown. "We'll miss you at Sunday dinner."  
  
"I'll miss you guys, too," Sören said, his chest tightening. For the first time since things exploded with Anthony, he was resentful of his schedule, how many hours he worked. In the long stretch between the breakup with Anthony and encountering Karen again in December, Sören had been grateful for his job, as he could just work all the time and not have to think, not have to feel. But now he wanted a life again, and if he was going to make consultant at the National, he had to keep putting in these workweeks. _At least it's not a hundred hours again. Yet._ He was dreading Colin Traynor's departure.  
  
At the thought of Colin, Sören gave the cafe a quick once-over to see if he spotted Diana. He was relieved Diana wasn't there. _What I really fucking don't need today is more Anthony reminders._  
  
"I haven't seen her," Karen said, observant.  
  
"Fucking barristers," Sören muttered into his coffee. Anthony had been like that too.  
  
Karen caught that and giggled. "Former barrister, but thank you." She kissed his cheek again.  
  
The selection on their table today was _Always Coming Home_ by Ursula K. Le Guin, _Insomnia_ by Stephen King, and the book closest to his seat was _Watership Down_ by Richard Adams. "Bunnies!" Sören said.  
  
"It's not a happy book," Nicholas said.  
  
"Way to give spoilers, Dad," Karen said, giving Nicholas a playful nudge.  
  
Sören chuckled. "I already knew that." He sighed. "When I was nine, I checked the book out of the library because, you know, bunnies. And then found out that it was... well... not a cute, fun book. It was nightmare fuel for a kid, actually."  
  
"I bet," Nicholas said, nodding.  
  
"This, though." Sören tapped the book by Le Guin. "Everything I've ever read of hers is fucking magical, I'd love to devour this today." And Sören gave a wistful little sigh, thinking of Anthony - Le Guin was Anthony's favorite author.  
  
 _Fuck, I miss him._  
  
"Well, you're welcome to it," Nicholas said. "I might look at _Insomnia_ if Karen doesn't mind, or I'll look at the other selections out on empty tables."  
  
"I don't mind," Karen said. "That's quite a doorstopper, though... as you know."  
  
"Oh, I shan't attempt to read it all in one day," Nicholas said. Sören couldn't help grinning at the word _shan't_ again - he found Nicholas's old-fashioned words charming. "I can read fast, but not that fast."  
  
Sören's breakfast came - a Scotch egg with fried potatoes, and a fruit bowl on the side. The physician in Sören protested, but Sören had worked until eleven PM last night and he was still exhausted. It was a testament to his love for Karen and desire to spend time with her - and truthfully, for Nicholas also - that he was willing to get up early after a long shift and meet them for breakfast. Sören dug in, famished, and a few minutes into the meal Sören noticed Nicholas kept looking at him. Sören's face was on fire again.  
  
"Sorry," Sören said, then realized his mouth was full, and chewed and swallowed. "I know I have no manners."  
  
"Oh, I was just.. enjoying watching you eat. You eat with gusto. It's... it's rare to find people, nowadays, who _look_ like they're feeling something." Nicholas sipped his coffee. "Now I apologize, that sounds foolish..."  
  
"No, it doesn't." Sören's stomach fluttered. "I'm, uh... an intense guy, what can I say."  
  
Karen affectionately tousled his hair. "That's why I love you."  
  
"Oh, Karen." Sören felt that warm, soft, fuzzy feeling, and he leaned in to kiss the tip of her nose.  
  
Sören listened as Nicholas and Karen talked about their respective workweeks. He found himself looking out the window every now and again, not because anything they were saying was boring him, but he couldn't shake the feeling of anxiety, that he knew wasn't just at the prospect of seeing Nicholas again, who he had a horrible crush on, but he was feeling anxious about possibly seeing Diana here. Or anyone else he might recognize from London's legal community. Sören didn't think Trisha and Vincente would come to a place like this, but then he knew Trisha liked to read.  
  
Sören managed to relax a little after their meal, when they went to the reading section, where Nicholas took an armchair and Sören and Karen sat on a small couch together. Sören opened up _Always Coming Home_ and was transported into another world - "the story of people who might have lived a long, long time from now". Somewhere where, after an apocalypse, life had gone on, and people had learned to live in harmony with the land, and with each other.  
  
It was a story of hope, but it was not without the usual pain and tragedies in the lives of people telling their stories. One in particular, a story called _The Visionary_ , drew Sören in even deeper than anything else had in the book.  
  
 _My Serpentine grandmother did not like having a Miller for son-in-law, and my mother wanted me to learn medicine. "If she has the third eye she ought to put it to good use," they said, and they sent me to the Doctors Lodge on White Sulphur Creek to learn. Although I learned a good deal there and liked the teachers, I did not like the work, and was impatient with the illnesses and accidents of mortality, preferring the dangerous, dancing energies my father worked with. I could often see the electrical current, and there were excitements of feeling, tones of a kind of sweet music barely to be heard, and tones also of voices speaking and singing, distant and hard to understand, that came when I worked with the batteries and wires. I did not speak of this to my father. If he felt and heard any of those things he preferred to leave them unspoken, outside the house of words._  
  
Though medicine was a calling for Sören, his true calling was art. It was when he felt most _himself_.  
  
He thought of his dreams of "the before time", that he'd had regularly during his relationship with Anthony. He thought about his mentor, who was more of a father to him than his own father, working in the smithy, the way stones and glass and steel seemed to sing, the distant music he could hear when he worked. The music had gotten louder in the presence of his second son.  
  
Sören felt a frisson through him as he continued reading.  
  
 _I laughed and shouted like the man in the play:  
"What am I here for?  
What was I born for?  
Answer me! Answer!"  
I was crazy. I was lost without knowing it, and did not care for anything._  
  
"Oh god," Sören muttered. He had that feeling of being _other_ his whole life, not truly of this world, and yet, not willing to go back to the "old world" that had felt so much like a cage, if that "old world" ever existed. When he was with Anthony, he had felt the struggle a bit less. Losing Anthony had been so devastating not just because they loved each other, they _liked_ each other, and they looked out for each other, but Anthony was part of his past - if that had truly been a past - and they felt so right together, their love was bigger than the both of them. Losing Anthony had plunged Sören back into darkness, wondering why he was here.  
  
 _It was the universe of power. It was the network, field, and lines of the energies of all the beings, stars and the galaxies of stars, worlds, animals, minds, nerves, dust, the lace and foam of vibration that is being itself, all interconnected, every part part of another part and the whole part of each part, and so comprehensible to itself only as a whole, boundless and unclosed._  
  
Sören shivered. He'd had feelings, impressions just like that when he performed surgery.  
  
 _In this lesser place or plane, which was might be called the gods or the divine, beings enacted possibilities. These I, being human, recall as having human form. One of them came and shaped the vibrations of energies, closing their paths from gyre into wheel. This one was very strong, and was crippled. He worked as blacksmith at the smithy, making wheels of energy closed upon themselves, terrible with power, flaming. He who made them was burnt away by them to a shell of cinder, with eyes like a potter's kiln when it is opened, and hair of burning wires, but still he turned the paths of energy and closed them into wheels, locking power into power. All around this being now was black and hollow where the wheels turned the ground and milled. There were other beings who came as if flying, like birds in a storm, flying and crying across the wheels of fire to stop the turning and the work, but they were caught in the wheels, and burst like feathers of flame. The miller was a thin shell of darkness now, very weak, burnt out, and he too was caught in the wheels' turning and burning and grinding, and was ground to dust, like fine black meal._  
  
Sören could feel his mouth open, a ringing in his head, feeling like the wheels of his mind were spinning out of control. A scream bubbled up inside him, remembering the dreams of the forge, the dreams of the pack of fire-demons lashing him, dying, burning up, burning to ash. He did not scream aloud, but he was screaming internally, his skin gooseflesh, feeling hysteria rise in him. He felt like he had been _seen_ , but a part of him that existed in the time-before-there-was-time, even before the life of other-him. Sören was a doctor, a man of science, skeptical when it came to religious things and the supernatural, and that part of him clamored in protest, _this is nothing, stop being foolish_. But something within him was still crying out, not able to be silenced by appeals to logic, to rationalism. Something about this was true, even as it was just a story. The words cut him to the quick, penetrated the very essence of _what_ he was, the _why_ of it, why he'd felt so other his entire life.  
  
 _I was holding in my left hand a rock of serpentine, greenish with dark markings, quite round as if water-worn, though serpentine does not often wear round but splits and crumbles. It was just large enough that I could close my fingers around it. I held this round stone for a long time and listened to the chanting, until I went to sleep. When I woke up, after a while I felt the rock going immaterial, so that my fingers began sinking into it, and it weighed less and less, until it was gone. I was a little grieved by this, for I had thought it a remarkable thing to come back from the Right Arm of the World with a piece of it in my hand; but as I grew clearer-headed I perceived the vanity of that notion. Years later the rock came back to me. I was walking down by Moon Creek with my sons when they were small boys. The younger one saw the rock in the water and picked it up, saying, "A world!" I told him to keep it in his heya-box, which he did. When he died, I put the rock back in the water of Moon Creek._  
  
Sören shivered again. The thought came, unbidden: _That wasn't serpentine, that was a goddamn emerald._ He thought of rough emeralds, with dark streaks. He thought of the dream of his other-self making other-Anthony a ring set with an emerald.  
  
 _I have to get out of here._ Sören looked at the clock, and it was almost noon. He didn't know how long Nicholas and Karen usually tended to stay here, and he didn't want to just ask if they could go now considering the last time he'd come here they'd left early because of him...  
  
Sören got up to stretch his legs. Nicholas looked up from his book and smiled at him - Sören loved that little smile, the way Nicholas's eyes shone and crinkled at the corners. Sören smiled back, and Nicholas's cheeks flushed slightly pink again.  
  
Then Nicholas looked at the clock above the doors. "Oh. We should get going," Nicholas said.  
  
Karen also looked at the clock and her eyes widened and she nodded. "I got kind of lost in the book," Karen said.  
  
"I think we all got lost," Sören said. He was still screaming internally, still had gooseflesh under his clothes.  
  
"Are you OK? You look like you've seen a ghost," Karen said, taking Sören's hand.  
  
 _You have no idea._ "I'm OK," Sören said. "I could use a nap, though." He laughed a little too heartily, aware of how fake his laugh sounded. He didn't just want to burrow under blankets, he wanted to burrow in a hole in the ground and let out the screams.  
  
Nicholas and Karen rose, and they put on their outerwear. As they approached the door, Sören looked through the glass and saw someone walking towards the door, a man. Sören liked to be polite and hold the door open for people, but now as the man came closer and he got a better look, he was now seeing a ghost _for real_...  
  
"Oh shit, it's Anthony," Sören muttered.  
  
Karen's eyebrows shot up.  
  
Nicholas's eyes narrowed.  
  
"I've never seen him here before," Karen said. "Believe me, I would know -"  
  
"Yeah, I know you would know." Then Sören realized. "Oh my god, Diana told him she saw me." He facepalmed. "That's the only explanation that makes sense."  
  
"All right," Nicholas said, his voice calm - a calm that Sören knew Nicholas did not feel, his body language tense. "Let's just... go out and start walking home. If he stops us we'll deal with him -"  
  
"I'll deal with him." As satisfying as it would be to let Nicholas rip into him, Sören didn't want to cause a scene. Sören had to think fast. "OK. Whatever I say or do, you guys just... just go along with it, no questions asked please, or at least not until later after he's gone. OK?"  
  
Karen and Nicholas nodded. Sören took a deep breath. "Right. One... two... three..."  
  
They walked out of the cafe just as Anthony was a few steps away from the door. Anthony paused in his tracks and for a moment they just looked at each other.  
  
Anthony was still just as maddeningly gorgeous as ever, short black hair gelled and neatly combed, handsome face lighting up with a genuine smile at the sight of Sören - that smile that had dazzled Sören countless times since they first met, and still dazzled him, Sören hating himself for finding him so attractive. Anthony also looked suave and dapper in his WWII-style vintage greatcoat, and expensive boots for the snow. His hands were gloved, and he gave a small wave in greeting. "Sören. Hi."  
  
"Hello," Sören said, keeping his tone frosty.  
  
Anthony nodded at Karen. "Bella Swan," he said, and Karen scowled at him. Anthony slightly raised his eyebrow at Nicholas but otherwise didn't say anything to him, and then Anthony's gaze went back to Sören. "I see our paths crossed just in time."  
  
Sören sighed. "What do you want, Anthony?"  
  
"Diana told me she'd run into you here," Anthony said.  
  
 _Called it._ "Yeah, remind me to thank her if I see her again," Sören muttered, hoping Anthony caught the sarcasm in his voice.  
  
"So you're stalking him now?" Karen asked, folding her arms.  
  
Anthony didn't answer that directly. "Since our paths crossed by accident in Holborn just before your birthday, I've been wrestling with whether or not to contact you again, and when Diana mentioned she'd seen you I... sort of took it as a sign." Anthony gave a nervous laugh. He shifted his weight awkwardly from one foot to another, then his eyes met Sören's and he said, "Sören, there are no words I have that can express how deeply, deeply, deeply sorry I am for what happened. How much I hurt you. How much I _wronged_ you."  
  
"So you came all this way from Kingston just to apologize?" Sören cocked his head to one side, not buying it.  
  
"The apology is a start." Anthony took a deep breath. "Sören, I miss you. I haven't been right since you left. Not a day goes by that I don't think of you, and regret what I'd done, and wish we walked down that aisle together. I miss holding you. Making love to you. Laughing at your jokes. I miss your pretty brown eyes."  
  
Sören felt his eyes misting, burning, felt that tight ache in his chest. He'd missed Anthony too, desperately. He wanted to believe Anthony's words - he wanted to believe they were sincere, and that Anthony really did miss him, and it wasn't just because Anthony was having a dry spell and assumed he would be an easy lay. But he couldn't trust anything Anthony said after Anthony had cheated on him, the amount of dishonesty that had gone into finding someone to cheat with.  
  
Anthony went on. "Valentine's Day is coming up and I... I wanted to ask if we could start over. We were good, when we were together, until just before the end. We could be good again. I'd really like to take you out somewhere, enjoy your company... try to make things right. Sören, please. I told you when it was over that I wouldn't beg to have my needs met, but I'm not too proud to beg now. I need you, Sören. Please, come back to me. Come home."  
  
Sören swallowed hard. In the first few months after Sören left, and moved into his own place in Holborn, if their paths had crossed - and Sören was close enough to Lincoln's Inn that had always been a possibility - Sören would have jumped at the offer. Indeed, Sören had spent countless nights thinking about a scenario just like this as he cried himself to sleep, missing Anthony with all his heart, wishing they could find their way again.  
  
But it had been over a year now. Sören didn't know why Anthony hadn't come to him sooner - Anthony could have shown up at the National, after all, he knew where Sören worked. Once again, Sören wondered if Anthony really meant a single word of what he was saying or if this was the Shark, the courtroom manipulator, not wanting to be alone on Valentine's Day.  
  
And Sören felt a flare of anger. Anthony spoke as if he assumed Sören was still single, that Sören hadn't moved on with his life yet. That wasn't entirely an unfair assumption - Sören worked a lot of hours and he hadn't dated anyone after Anthony, until he re-encountered Karen in December; he would very likely still be single if they hadn't met up again. But it still bothered Sören that Anthony just assumed he had it like that - that Sören was either still single, or he'd drop anyone he was dating to run right back to him and just trust that Anthony would never lie or cheat again.  
  
It was that anger, and that pride, thrumming through Sören, hot as the forge of his dreams, that led him to what came next, impulsive, unscripted. "Well, Anthony," Sören said, "as it happens I already have plans for Valentine's Day."  
  
"Oh." Anthony's face fell. "Are you working?"  
  
Sören gave a bitter laugh. "In a manner of speaking." Sören reached out, grabbed Karen, and kissed her hard. Karen responded to the kiss, kissing him back, genuine passion and sensuality between them as their tongues played together, teased with the promise of more later.  
  
But Sören wasn't done yet. The hurt look on Anthony's face made Sören feel even more vengeful. Not thinking, just feeling, Sören grabbed Nicholas and pulled him down into a kiss. Nicholas's lips parted and when their tongues met, Sören heard himself moan - oh god, how he he'd wanted this - and Nicholas groaned. Their tongues swirled, rubbed, and Sören felt his cock stir. For good measure Sören's hands slid up Nicholas's torso over his trenchcoat and back down, as their tongues continued to dance.  
  
When Sören and Nicholas pulled apart, Nicholas's mouth was slightly open and his pupils were blown wide. He looked at Sören a bit dazed, as if he couldn't believe what just happened.  
  
Sören turned back to Anthony, who looked on the verge of tears, and Sören had to twist the knife just a little more. He dabbed.  
  
Anthony turned on his heel, not saying a word, and began to walk away, not looking back. Shoulders slumped, head bowed. Snowflakes started to fall.  
  
Sören felt proud of himself, and yet disgusted all at the same time. Part of him already had regrets, wanting so badly to run to him, to accept his offer, to try it again, to heal the wound in his soul that Anthony's absence had left. But Sören was still hurt, still angry. It was going to take more than "I'm sorry" and asking to get together on Valentine's Day to avoid the sad feelings of being single that day, for Sören to ever want to go back to him.  
  
And then Sören felt another unpleasant wave of emotion. He realized he'd kissed Nicholas. It was every bit as delicious as his fantasies, if not moreso for being reality. If Nicholas was acting, he was the best damn actor Sören had ever seen.  
  
But Nicholas still looked dazed - he had the "deer trapped in headlights" look - and Sören knew he hadn't just kissed Nicholas, he'd crossed a line. Whether or not Nicholas had been acting, Sören sure as hell hadn't been acting, and Sören had a feeling Nicholas could figure that out, now. And Karen was watching them both, taking it all in. She had been a barrister, and if she was anything like Anthony, she knew what was up. There was no way Sören could hide it from her anymore, that he was into her dad as much as he was into her, if not moreso.  
  
"I. Ah." Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls, and rubbed his beard. "I'm sorry about that. I needed to get him off my back -"  
  
"I'm... I'm going to go back inside and have another cup of coffee," Nicholas said, his voice sounding a bit raspy. "Are you two joining me, or..."  
  
Karen looked at Sören, and Sören looked down. "I think Sören probably wants to get back and not be in a crowd of people right now," Karen said, putting an arm around him, and Sören just nodded, staring at the sidewalk.  
  
"All right. Well, Karen, I'll... see you on Sunday, and, Sören, I'll..." Nicholas's voice trailed off.  
  
Nicholas had been coming to see Sören on his breaks as of late, but Sören wondered if that was going to happen at all this week now what with the awkwardness of the kiss. "I'll see you around," Sören mumbled, and then he and Karen headed off.  
  
The snow fell harder, and Sören thought of his dreams, when he was in exile, the brother-lover-who-wasn't-Anthony at his side. He wished Nicholas was coming with them rather than going back into the cafe alone, but he supposed Nicholas needed time and space to process what just happened.  
  
 _I fucked up. I fuck up everything. Just like I did back then, here I am doing it all over again._  
  
  
_  
  
  
Once Sören and Karen got back to Karen's flat, Sören changed into the pajamas he'd brought with him, and Karen turned down the covers so Sören could crawl into her bed and take a nap. But once Sören was in bed, and Karen lay on the other side of him, feeling her arms around him and the soft curves of her body, feeling her gentle touch, broke something in him and Sören started to cry.  
  
Karen rocked him, pet his curls, kissed his tears. "I know," she whispered.  
  
 _No, you don't know._ It wasn't just Anthony, the pain of seeing him again - the regret at not taking his offer, and yet the _anger_ that the offer was even made, the way Anthony seemed to just expect him to trust again - but Sören was embarrassed for kissing Nicholas, worrying he'd fucked things up with Karen and probably Geir also, worried that he'd fucked up his friendship with Nicholas...  
  
Sören sobbed harder. "Oh god. Oh god, it hurts. Everything fucking hurts."  
  
"I know, sweetheart." Karen's arms tightened around him. She rocked him harder. "It's OK, Sören. I'm right here. I'm right here..."  
  
 _But for how much longer?_ Sören didn't know if Karen was secretly angry with him and just being nice right now because he was in obvious distress, and if the bomb would drop later, when he was calm again. Sören didn't want to lose her too. _That's one of the things I'm good at. Losing people I love._  
  
Sören cried and cried, and there was a small knock on Karen's door. "Is everything all right?" Geir's voice came from behind the door.  
  
"Sören's just upset, you can come in," Karen said.  
  
Geir came in - he had apparently hit the gym after his orchestra practice, looking sweaty and delicious. But not even Geir looking like a five-star dessert was enough to distract Sören from the pain. And Geir stepping into the room reminded Sören of what he'd read in _Always Coming Home_ , that feeling like he'd been _seen, known_ , some secret in him ripped out and exposed, laid bare. That passage would have been hard enough on its own, but seeing Anthony a short while later made it that much worse, like Anthony was his fate, his destiny, a missing piece that he was running away from.  
  
Sören had never felt quite at home in this world, and yet he'd never felt quite at home in "the world before" of his dreams, either - he'd resented that place so much by the time of his death, where it felt like a release, an end to the constant pain. When he was with Anthony he'd had _home_. He was starting to feel a similar sense of home with Karen, with Geir, and especially with Nicholas, and that terrified him.  
  
Sören cried harder.  
  
Geir sat on the bed, and reached out to rub Sören's shoulders and back. "Hey, love. It's OK," Geir said. He glanced over at Karen. "What happened?"  
  
"We saw Anthony," Karen said.  
  
"You _what?_ " Geir's eyes widened, incredulous.  
  
Karen nodded. "Anthony showed up at The Raven's Roost. We saw his assistant the last time Sören was there, and she told him she'd seen him..."  
  
"So he's stalking you now?" Geir asked.  
  
Sören snorted. "That's a strong word. No, this is the first I've seen or heard from him since we ran into each other at a coffee shop near my place in November, but he works right near there, so..." Sören shrugged.  
  
"Jesus. Did he say anything?" Geir folded his arms.  
  
Sören nodded. "He wanted to get back together. And I, uh, said no."  
  
Now it was Karen's turn to snort. "You didn't exactly _say_ it, Sören."  
  
Geir cocked his head to one side. "What happened?"  
  
Karen smirked. "He kissed me. And then he kissed Nicholas."  
  
Geir's eyes widened and then his laughter boomed out. "Oh my god. _Burn._ Wow, Sören. Wow, what a burn."  
  
Karen giggled madly. "Then he dabbed."  
  
Geir howled. "Shit. Wow. That's so bad."  
  
Sören smiled, but then he fell apart again, crying so hard he was starting to keen, little screams ripping through him.  
  
Now Geir lay behind him, spooning him, holding him tight. Karen and Geir both held him, rocking him and rocking him, petting him, making soothing noises.  
  
"What do you need, Sören?" Karen asked. "What can we do to make it better? Tea? Biscuits? A movie?"  
  
Sören thought of the kiss with Nicholas, his fantasies about Nicholas... his memories of Anthony, the passion between them. Sören closed his eyes. "I need to forget for awhile. I need to go to a better place."  
  
When he opened his eyes, Geir looked at Karen, as if they were communicating telepathically, and then Karen just nodded, and kissed him. "I think we can do that."  
  
Karen kissed him again, and Sören felt a flood of relief - Karen wouldn't be kissing him like this if she hated him, if he'd ruined everything by kissing Nicholas. _Maybe she thinks I was just acting._ But he doubted it, as keenly observant as she was.  
  
And now, as Sören and Karen kissed, out of the corner of his eye Sören saw Geir undressing, quickly shucking his clothes and letting them fall to the floor. When Geir was completely nude, he climbed back in bed and now it was his turn to kiss Sören. Geir and Karen began to undo the buttons of Sören's pajama top, began to kiss and lick the flesh exposed. Once the top was off of him, they each drew a nipple into their mouths, sucking hard, making Sören arch to them, crying out, clutching their heads as the sensation went straight to his cock, making it jolt to life.  
  
Geir and Karen tugged at Sören's pajama bottoms, freeing Sören's hard cock. Geir took Sören's cock in his hand and began stroking it as he claimed Sören's mouth again, and Karen gently cupped Sören's balls and rubbed them as she kissed and licked his neck. Sören lost himself in the sensual pleasure, moaning, aching for more.  
  
Karen got up, and Sören gave a little whine of protest, then a groan as she undressed and Sören got a good look at her naked body. Karen came right back to him and now she grabbed Sören and kissed him, and it was Geir's turn to lick, nibble, and kiss Sören's neck and shoulder. Geir's hands and Karen's slid over Sören's body, exploring, caressing, teasing. Sören broke out in gooseflesh and his nipples hardened, his cock twinging.  
  
When Karen and Sören's kiss broke, catching their breath, Sören reached out to cup Karen's breasts in his hands, thumbing the nipples, and she leaned up so he could lap and suckle, while Geir's mouth continued to work on Sören's neck and shoulder, trailing lower to his chest, close to his nipple but not yet giving him that satisfaction. Karen moaned as Sören feasted on her breasts, tongue licking around and around a nipple, tongue rubbing fast, lips sucking hard, then tongue brushing more slowly, sensually, before drawing both nipple and aereole into his mouth. One then the other, back and forth, groaning at the sight of Karen's nipples glistening, swollen, the sight of Karen panting, the heat in her eyes as Sören pleasured her. Sören reached down, fingers playing between her legs, and he smiled as he felt how wet she was already, and they'd barely gotten started. Karen watched as Sören brought his fingers to his mouth to taste, savoring her sweet juices. She kissed him hard, and Sören's fingers reached there again, playing with her, his cock throbbing at the way she moaned into the kiss.  
  
With slick fingers, Sören rubbed, pinched and tugged on Karen's hard nipples, anointing them with her cream. Then he kissed and licked down her neck, her throat, to the hollow between her breasts, and turned his head to lap at one nipple, tasting her juices there while Karen cried out, grabbing onto Sören, shivering, panting as he slurped away, making murmurs of pleasure. Sören groaned as Geir slid down his body to start licking at his cock - just licking, tongue swirling around and around the head, lashing at the frenulum, licking the shaft up and down.  
  
After Sören made a few rounds of Karen's nipples, Karen seized his face and kissed him hard, and then Sören watched as Karen lowered herself, breasts to Sören's chest, and teasingly began to rub her nipples against his. Sören moaned, and Karen grinned, stroking his face, his curls, before reaching down to touch herself, and she stuck her fingers in his mouth, watching as he sucked her fingers.  
  
Geir came up, and with Sören's precum on his tongue he kissed Sören deeply. Sören looked down and saw Geir's own cock was dripping, and Sören collected Geir's precum onto his fingers and gave Geir the same treatment, anointing Geir's nipples with his precum and lapping, suckling, making Geir moan and shiver and gasp for breath. Sören took both their cocks in his hand, stroking them together, moaning around the nipple in his mouth as Karen kissed Sören's neck, his shoulder, the back of his neck, kissed and licked a path down his spine.  
  
Then Geir and Karen shoved Sören onto his back, and they were sucking his nipples at the same time again. Sören heard himself making high-pitched whimpers and deep guttural noises, shuddery little gasps, trembling as their mouths took him above and beyond "a better place for awhile". Sören felt almost like he could come just from their mouths on his nipples alone, but he wasn't quite there yet.  
  
Geir and Karen looked at each other, as if they were once again silently communicating something between them, and then Karen straddled Sören's shoulders and sat on his face, her back to the wall. Geir kissed and licked his way down Sören's chest and stomach and Sören groaned into Karen's mound as Geir took Sören's cock into his mouth, swallowing it down to the hilt. As Sören lapped at Karen, kissed her petals, sucked on her clit, Geir sucked Sören's cock, alternating fast and slow, now and again taking it out to lick at it, teasing him... and Karen watched. Soon Karen was riding Sören's face, fucking herself on his tongue, then his lips, moaning, as Geir sucked Sören hard and fast and hungry, and Sören couldn't help but grab Geir's head and fuck his mouth. When Karen climaxed, contracting, gushing on Sören's face, Sören came a few seconds later, Geir moaning "mmmmm" as he drank all that Sören had to give.  
  
Geir came up to kiss Sören, letting Sören taste himself on the kiss - tasting Karen. Even though Geir was strictly gay and he and Karen had never gone beyond incidental touching in their threesomes, tasting each other on their lover was a form of bonding for them. _"It helps us feel closer,"_ Karen had explained to him once. Sören thought it was hot - he wished that Geir was at least a little bi, but he knew that sort of thing couldn't be forced. And right now, he needed to be focused on, needed to be spoiled. He had been so touch-starved, so hungry, for so long. He needed to be needy, to be allowed to be needy, even as he wanted to pleasure them both, wanted to make Karen come again... and again and again.  
  
"I need more," Sören whispered, looking into Karen's eyes. "I need to taste you again, _elskan._ "  
  
"Only if I can taste you too," Karen said.  
  
Sören smirked. "Twist my arm, why don't you."  
  
Karen giggled, and then she grabbed Sören's arm and twisted it a little, making Sören laugh - and then he stopped laughing as her tongue licked down the flames on his arm. Sören was sensitive there - he was sensitive everywhere - and he moaned as the pleasure sparked through him, stiffening his cock... making his hole twitch.  
  
Now Geir had the lube, and he had two fingers in Sören, watching him, studying his reactions. Sören cried out as Geir's fingers found that spot in him right away, rubbing it, teasing it, a promise of what his cock would be doing momentarily. When Sören was ready, Geir got between his legs and guided the tip of his hard cock to Sören's opening. Sören began to take deep breaths, and Karen watched, touching herself, as Geir entered him inch by inch. Sören gasped - being fucked only occasionally these days meant he was tighter than he used to be - but after the initial pinch and burn it was just comforting to feel Geir stretch him, fill him. And when Geir took his first few thrusts, Geir's cock brushed that place inside him, exquisite magic. Sören gasped and bucked, and Geir groaned.  
  
"Fuck, you feel good," Geir growled.  
  
" _You_ feel good," Sören sighed. "I love feeling you inside me."  
  
"I'm about to make you feel even better," Karen said. With that, she climbed on his shoulders again, lowering herself to his lips, and lay atop him. Sören moaned into Karen as he felt her mouth around his cock.  
  
They found their rhythm, Geir thrusting into Sören as Sören licked and sucked Karen's clit, and Karen sucked on Sören's cock, rubbing her tongue as she sucked. Three voices moaned and groaned and cried out together, the bed creaking, rocking against the wall. Sören knew Karen was in the right position to watch Geir's cock pumping in and out of him, and he knew it excited her as her juices dripped and she started to rock against his tongue. He _really_ knew it excited her when Geir started fucking him harder and she stopped sucking his cock for a moment to rasp, "That's it, Geir. Fuck him hard." Geir groaned, grabbed Sören's hips, and fucked away, balls slapping against Sören's ass. Karen let out a moan and a " _fuck_ , that's so hot," before she took Sören's cock back into his mouth, sucking him faster, even more eagerly than before. Sören returned the favor, tongue lashing away at her clit, sucking hard, tongue brushing around it, teasing her, before he pressed his lips into her and kissed it, slurped on it like he was eating a delicious piece of fruit. Karen made high-pitched noises around his cock, riding his lips hard, and now she was cupping his balls, rubbing them, knowing how much Sören liked that, getting him right on that edge.  
  
Sören's tongue dipped inside her, savoring the hot, tangy cream, and the way Karen screamed around his cock, fucking herself on his tongue as it rubbed hard inside her. When Sören's tongue went back to her clit he worked his fingers in and out of her, rubbing the G-spot, cock throbbing at the delicious, filthy sound of her wetness. The sound of Geir's balls slapping Sören's ass got louder as Geir drove into him even harder, and he was _right there right there right there_...  
  
Sören desperately held back, wanting Karen to come first, and she did, shrieking around the cock in her mouth as she pulsed against his lips, squeezed around his fingers again and again. Crying out into her, Sören let go, and Karen made a "mmmmff" as he filled her mouth. A few thrusts later and Geir gave a fierce shout, more pleasure throbbing through Sören at the feel of Geir's seed spilling into him.  
  
They found their way into a cuddle-pile, giggling. Sören tasted himself on Karen and she tasted herself on him, then Sören kissed Geir. At the look Geir gave him when they pulled apart, Sören knew Geir wasn't quite done yet... and neither was Sören. He needed to let go, fully and completely. He needed to shatter, be ripped apart and put back together again.  
  
Karen lay on her back, and opened to Sören. He kissed her deeply and stroked her face as he took her, and their eyes met, breathing each other's breath at that sacred moment of connection, when he was fully inside her, when they were one flesh.  
  
Then Geir took Sören from behind, teeth on the back of Sören's neck, growling as he pushed inside. Sören sighed when Geir was all the way in, claiming him.  
  
"We love you," Geir whispered into Sören's ear. "You're ours. And we're yours."  
  
Sören pushed into Karen as Geir pushed into him, pulled back as Geir pulled out, pushed in again as Geir went deeper. They went slowly at first, sweetly - making love, not just sex. Needing to _be_ , intertwined like this.  
  
But soon the passion overtook them. Geir moved inside Sören harder, faster, and Sören matched his rhythm, hips rocking back at Geir, and against Karen's, taking her harder, and Karen's hips rolled back at Sören, bucking underneath him. "Yes, Sören, yes," Karen panted. "Like that, Sören, fuck me..."  
  
"Karen." Sören nibbled on her neck, groaned into it. "Oh god, Karen." Sören let out a cry as Geir rose up, fucking him even harder. " _Geir._ "  
  
Geir grabbed Sören's hair, and Karen made a feral noise, her nails digging into Sören's hips. Sören made a guttural noise right back, once again matching Geir's rhythm. His mouth met Karen's, fierce and hungry, and then Karen _bit_ his neck and Sören bit her right back, making Karen cry out and rock underneath him even harder. "Fuck me, Sören, _fuck me!_ " Now it was Karen grabbing his hair. Her hands slid down to his shoulders, down his arms and back up, and then her hands were on his chest and she was pinching his nipples. Sören moaned and leaned in to kiss her again, fingers reaching to play with her clit, tease it, until all Karen could do was pant, gasp, shaking, her eyes wild. Sören could feel her thighs quivering, felt her bearing down around him, and knew she was close.  
  
Geir licked Sören's neck, kissed his shoulder, and nibbled. Geir tilted Sören's face so they could kiss and Karen watched them kissing, tongues rubbing together open-mouthed, slow and sensual. Karen gave a desperate, deep growl, and Sören almost came, feeling the little pulses of a near-orgasm. Geir reached around to play with Sören's swollen, sensitive nipples, and Geir was kissing and licking his neck again.  
  
They stayed on that edge for what felt like an eternity, pleasure building and building and building, but it was just another moment or two. Then Karen threw her head back and screamed, " _Sören!_ " and Sören felt her clamp around him, clench and release, clench and release, throbbing around him.  
  
"Oh god, Karen! Geir!" Sören closed his eyes as the blinding light hit him, pulling him under, spending and spending in a full-body orgasm, melting, a flood of fire, sweet relief.  
  
Geir gasped as he collapsed onto Sören, shaking, and Sören felt Geir spending into him again. Geir continued to just gasp, pant, trembling violently, and Sören knew Geir's orgasm was intense too.  
  
The three joined hands, and it was one of the most intimate moments of Sören's life. For the briefest instant Sören wished that when he and Anthony were together, Anthony had talked about his needs and they'd found a third, someone to share together. But it was too late now.  
  
It was too late for a lot of things. In Sören's mind's eye he saw Anthony turning in front of The Raven's Roost, walking away without looking back. He saw the kiss with Nicholas again, the stunned look Nicholas had given him - the knowing look Karen had given him. The loss of Anthony was echoed by the impending loss of Nicholas, the feeling that he'd irrevocably done damage to that friendship.  
  
Sören's release was powerful enough that it opened the emotional floodgates once again. He cried - both with relief and joy that he had that feeling of home that he'd lost, with Karen and Geir... and with Nicholas... and with regret for having kissed Nicholas, for the fallout to come afterwards, making it awkward for everyone.  
  
"Oh, Sören." Karen rubbed noses with him, kissed his tears. Geir rolled off Sören's back and now they were kissing his tears together, petting his curls.  
  
"I'm sorry," Sören said. "I know I'm... too emotional. Too intense." Sören gave a guilty grin, grasping for humor, something, anything, to lighten the mood. "I guess my inner CAPSLOCK button is stuck being on all the time, or something."  
  
Geir chuckled, and Karen gave him a little smile. Then she tweaked his nose. "Well, Sören, we know seeing Anthony wasn't easy for you."  
  
"No." Sören sighed and closed his eyes. "I hate that I..." Sören wanted to say _I still love him_ but he didn't want to admit that to them. Not yet. Maybe not ever. "I still miss him."  
  
"It isn't just that, though, is it?" Karen cocked her head to one side and she gave him that keen, penetrating look - the same exact look Sören had seen from Anthony many times over the course of their relationship, the same exact look that probably terrified whoever Anthony was facing in the courtroom even before Anthony asked a loaded question, the same exact look that probably made Karen a similar force to be reckoned with when she was a barrister.  
  
And of course, Karen dropped the bomb then. "You have feelings for Nicholas, don't you?"  
  
Sören wasn't going to lie. He just nodded. And then he cried harder.  
  
Geir pulled Sören close, into the fortress of his chest, and kissed the top of Sören's head, rubbed his nose in his curls. "Shhhh, Sören. It's OK."  
  
"It... what?" Sören picked his head up and stared at Geir in disbelief.  
  
"Yes," Karen said, patting him. She nodded slowly, solemnly. "We already kind of knew."  
  
Sören facepalmed. "Oh my god. Is it... is it obvious?"  
  
"To us, yes," Geir said. He and Karen exchanged glances. "To him, maybe not so much."  
  
"Nicholas is brilliant," Karen said, "but he's very... he's brilliant in an intellectual way. He hasn't had a whole lot of experience with, well, men."  
  
Sören found himself very curious about Nicholas's dating history and his sexual history, but he felt like it would be rude to ask Karen and Geir about what they knew. "Well, I'm kind of glad if he doesn't know. I don't want to fuck things up with him."  
  
Karen and Geir exchanged glances again, and Geir rolled his eyes.  
  
"Sören, you should tell him," Karen said. "Especially now that... you know... you've kissed him. Because that's not just something you can sweep under the rug."  
  
"As you know," Geir said.  
  
"As you know," Karen said, and then she and Geir laughed together.  
  
But Sören was terrified, and in his fear, he wept afresh. "Oh god. I... fuck. What if I tell him, and he says no?"  
  
"Well, it's more likely he'd say 'shan't,'" Geir quipped, and Karen lost it, giggling hysterically.  
  
Then they calmed down when they saw the stricken look on Sören's face. "I wouldn't be so sure that he'd say no, Sören," Karen said. "What if he says yes?"  
  
"But I mean..." Sören made a vague hand gesture. "It's not going to be weird for you, with me dating your dad?"  
  
"We just want you to be happy," Geir said, "and we want Dad to be happy, too."  
  
Karen nodded. "To be honest, I've been kind of hoping the two of you would get together."  
  
Sören facepalmed again. And then he cried some more. "God. I... I don't know if I can. I feel really... overwhelmed..."  
  
"Well, it's something that doesn't have to be done right _now_ ," Karen said. "Just... don't put it off forever."  
  
"I need at least a few days." Sören pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm still... that entire thing at The Raven's Roost was fucking surreal."  
  
"That's understandable. A few days isn't a bad idea, to give you both time to process what happened. But you should definitely say something... before Valentine's Day." Karen gave him a wicked grin. "I'm totally fine with you guys going out then, you know, if you wanted to..."  
  
"That's if he wants to, and I just..." The thought of being rejected by Nicholas hurt at least as much as the memory of finding Anthony in bed with another man, getting a blowjob. Sören broke down, sobbing hard.  
  
Geir and Karen held him between them, rocking him, petting him, until at last the sobs subsided, and all cried out, Sören found himself drifting off to sleep, the nap that he needed to take after an early morning following a late end to his shift.  
  
Sören slept soundly, not disturbed by any strange dreams, despite his reading material of earlier and the feelings it, and the sudden appearance of Anthony, had awakened in him. What finally woke him up was a knock at the bedroom door.  
  
"Karen? Are you here?" It was Nicholas's voice. "You left your purse at The Raven's Roost, so I came by to return it -"  
  
Karen sat up. "Oh shit," she hissed. She called out, "Just a minute, Dad."  
  
She got up out of bed and quickly threw on a robe over her naked body. "I don't want to ask him to wait for me downstairs since, you know, his arthritis," Karen whispered, and Geir and Sören nodded. Geir pulled up a sheet around them, though their bare chests were showing, and some of their bare legs and feet. Sören watched as Karen went to the bedroom door and opened it.  
  
"Hi, Dad." Karen leaned against the doorframe. " _Thank you_ for bringing back my purse, I didn't even know I'd left it there."  
  
"It's all right, dear. These things happen." Nicholas handed Karen her purse, and at that moment he spotted Sören and Geir in the bed together, the sheet just barely concealing the evidence of what they'd been up to. "Oh, hello."  
  
"Hi, Dad," Geir said, all casual.  
  
Sören just waved.  
  
Nicholas's eyes lingered there a moment, then he looked at Karen - the robe didn't leave much to the imagination, and her hair was disheveled, as was Sören's and Geir's - and his eyes widened, and Sören had a feeling Nicholas figured out what was going on.  
  
"Do you... want to have coffee or tea?" Karen asked.  
  
"I should be on my way," Nicholas said, quickly looking away from Karen. "As you know, I was gone for quite awhile earlier, and Tobias gets fussy if I'm gone too long. We shan't upset the poor kitty."  
  
"No, we shan't," Karen said. "Well, thanks again for bringing back my purse, Dad. That would have been inconvenient, or worse, if you hadn't gone back in the cafe and seen it."  
  
Nicholas nodded. "One would hope someone in The Raven's Roost would have the conscience to look at your identification and get in contact with you, but one never knows." He took a deep breath. "All right, kids. I shall be on my way. Have a good evening, and I'll see you tomorrow night for dinner, Karen and Geir...?"  
  
"Yes." Karen nodded. "Good night, Dad."  
  
"Good night. Good night, Geir, good night... Sören." And with that, Nicholas walked away, and Sören heard him going down the stairs.  
  
"I think he caught us," Geir said, and Karen had a gigglefit.  
  
"Oops," Karen said.  
  
"Whoopsidoodle," Sören said. But now he wondered how _this_ , too, was going to contribute to the weirdness of things with Nicholas, which were already weird.  
  
Karen climbed back into bed with them, and for now, Sören just enjoyed the coziness of snuggling between his lovers. _Stop overanalyzing everything to death. Just be._


	9. Lovesick

Nicholas is in a body not his own - young, hale, a flood of black hair to his knees.  
  
He is married to a woman he does not love, and who does not love him. An arranged marriage, a façade, a ruse, because of the laws of the land... and his own tyrant of a father, who rules with an iron fist.  
  
He is unhappy much of the time, except when he is with one or both of his brothers. He worships his elder brother, making excuses to see him whenever possible, willing to withstand even the heat of his forge to be near him...  
  
...his brother is Sören.  
  
They bicker, as siblings do, but there is an understanding that it's more in jest. They compete, as siblings do, always trying to one-up each other. Anthony is there too, and a competition starts between the three of them to see who can have the most children, Nicholas assisted by something resembling a turkey baster that Sören invents; Sören assists directly with Karen, so Anthony can give her seed without having to touch her.  
  
And the brothers make love together. The passion between them is like the fire of Sören's forge, the fire in Sören's eyes as he brings his visions to life... the fire of a supernova. Nicholas cannot get enough of Sören, nor Sören of Nicholas. Sometimes Anthony joins them, writhing with them, matching them fire for fire. But many times it is just the two of them, and the worship in Sören's eyes mirrors his own.  
  
People are starting to talk, as they do, noticing how close they are... the way they look at each other, their body language when together. Nicholas is warned by one of his wife's handmaidens that his wife's family wants him brought to trial. They have to do something, and fast, to turn the tide of suspicion.  
  
They are at a family dinner, and out of nowhere, Sören pulls out a sword and holds it to Nicholas's throat.  
  
Logically Nicholas knows it is just an act, Sören thinking and acting quickly lest they face judgment. But there is a part of him that wonders how real it is, if their friendly competition isn't so friendly after all, if Sören hates him.  
  
Sören's voice rings out in the hall. _Usurper. Thief._  
  
  
  
_  
  
  
Nicholas looked at the clock and sighed. He'd been trying to distract himself all day, but his thoughts kept going back to _that bloody dream_.  
  
Tobias was on his lap - Nicholas was taking some quiet time to sit down and just relax as dinner simmered on the stove and baked in the oven, before Karen and Geir showed up, which he was expecting any time now. Tobias had been curled up, purring away, but now he picked his head up and blinked his yellow-orange eyes with an inquisitive "Prrrp?"  
  
"Yes," Nicholas said, scratching the cat's head, then behind an ear, then the chin. Tobias leaned into his touch, purring. "You know your papa's a bit consternated, don't you."  
  
"Prrr-rowwwr."  
  
Nicholas got up to check the chicken roasting in the oven, Tobias following behind him. Nicholas picked up the turkey baster and was immediately reminded of the dream again, making a noise as he basted the turkey in its own juices. Before he went back into the living room, he opened a can of cat food for Tobias. Lately he had been in the habit of feeding Tobias when dinner was about to be served, but Tobias begged anyway and it was something for his hands to do. Something to try to further distract himself, as Tobias did his little mincing dance between the counter and the food dish, meowing again and again. "MOW. Mrrowrr. Prrr-rowrrr? _MOW._ "  
  
Nicholas wasn't just distracted by the dream itself, but all of the uncomfortable feelings it had arisen in him.  
  
On the one hand, it was obvious that the dream was symbolic. Nicholas had been in the closet for most of his adult life - it simply hadn't been _safe_ to be openly gay until the last decade or so. And as much as he was loath to admit it, he found this Anthony Hewlett-Johnson exceptionally attractive, almost as attractive as Sören himself. The paintings of Sören and Anthony making love together had been fuel for his fantasies for days now, and seeing Anthony in the flesh yesterday didn't help, much as Nicholas was angry with the man for what he'd done to Sören and he wished Sören had let him say something in his displeasure. A dream about the three of them making love together... well, that was perhaps to be expected.  
  
Most of all, Nicholas feared that he'd crossed a line on Saturday. He knew Sören was just acting, kissing him to make Anthony jealous and hurt, give Anthony a taste of how it felt to see "the other man". But Nicholas hadn't been acting, at all. He hadn't been able to help responding to that kiss with all the passion and fire in him, and judging from the fact that Sören didn't want to go back in the cafe and have another coffee with him, just wanted to get away from there - hadn't mustered more than a "see you around" - Nicholas had a feeling that Sören had been able to tell it wasn't just acting and he was probably repulsed or creeped out that someone his age would be interested.  
  
Or, if not that, maybe it was still too soon for Sören to move on. He knew Sören was intimate with Geir and Karen, of course - and apparently, at the same time, even - but it was one thing to sleep with one's friends, and another thing to share one's life with another person, and at Nicholas's age he wanted to settle down, not have someone just to "hook up with", as the kids these days called it. Maybe Sören was angry with him for the appearance of trying to fill the void that Anthony left, when Sören wasn't ready for it.  
  
Maybe Sören was upset because he was with Karen and Geir, maybe he thought Nicholas was trying to "steal him away", maybe he thought things with them would be too weird if they dated - Nicholas himself had hesitated saying anything to Sören about his attraction because he shared that fear.  
  
And the fact was, Sören had moved rather quickly with Karen and Geir, and Nicholas remembered the way he flirted with that girl in the antiques shop, not at all disguising his interest. Sören seemed like a very straightforward, no-bullshit person when he saw what he wanted, and in the weeks they'd known each other, Sören had not shown any indicator that he thought of Nicholas as anything other than just a friend. Nicholas worried that if he said anything to Sören he was going to be rejected, and not merely rejected, but it would cut his friendship with Sören out of his life, and with it Karen and Geir. That sword was very apt, indeed.  
  
But the dream felt _more_ than symbolic.  
  
In all the years that Nicholas Decaux had been alive, he'd never dreamt of himself in another body until recently. And the world of his dream was exceptionally vivid, albeit it also felt stifling, oppressive. Nicholas could still feel how deeply unhappy he was there, how much his heart had _ached_ when he was apart from... _well, Sören and Anthony._ Being young and beautiful and strong wasn't everything, when it covered misery... the beauty of the world in that dream seemed a mask for its ugliness, the bitterness and nastiness, the _corruption_ festering deep down. Nicholas had always felt a bit out of step with the modern world even before the technological revolution and Gen X, the millennials, and now the "zoomers" with their changing lifestyles and their fashion and their ridiculous music and their slang. But he didn't feel at home _there_ , in the world of his dream, either - he'd had even more of a sense of not belonging there, like he was even more ill-suited for that world than he was for this one. If someone came to him tomorrow and presented him with the opportunity to go back there in the flesh, not just his dreams, he would give a loud, resounding _"No_ ".  
  
 _All that glitters is not gold._  
  
If Nicholas was still a religious man, he'd wonder if perhaps the dream was a past life. He'd long since rejected the concept of God, and with it things people tended to believe if they believed in a Higher Power, such as an afterlife, or divine intervention or miracles, or things being "meant to be". And yet, he'd been Catholic long enough that he could never fully, completely shake it, and of course when he'd looked into Transcendental Meditation and eventually settled for tai chi, he'd explored Eastern spirituality. Over a billion people around the world believed in reincarnation, and there was some evidence that some in the early Church believed in it as well. Some who mixed Buddhism and Christianity said that Jesus Christ's statement of "ye must be born again" was not referring to a conversion, but to the inevitability of reincarnation.  
  
Once upon a time, a hippie he'd fed while he was still a priest had looked into his eyes and told him, "You have an old soul."  
  
There was now a nagging feeling in the back of Nicholas's mind that his dream had been not just symbolic but _real_ \- it had certainly felt real while he was there - and this was not the first time he'd known Sören Sigurðsson, or Anthony Hewlett-Johnson. They were fated, somehow.  
  
And that thought terrified him. The very last thing he wanted to do with himself was start believing in God, in fate, in an afterlife or something more complicated than an afterlife, all over again. He did _not_ appreciate what his mind had done to him last night, and he was rather hoping it was just a fluke, born of a one-off event, and he would never dream like that again. He didn't need silly, superstitious nonsense in his life.  
  
Not merely silly, superstitious nonsense, but _incestuous_ at that. Nicholas made it a point not to judge what consenting adults did, but he also didn't know how consensual incest could actually be. And yet, being with his brothers in the dream felt incredibly right - the only part of the dream that _didn't_ feel wrong, didn't feel corrupted in some way. It felt _sacred_ , like the unions of sibling-deities in mythology.  
  
 _We were rebelling against a god, because we ourselves were as gods._  
  
That thought gave Nicholas chills.  
  
Karen and Geir let themselves in with their key, and Nicholas wanted to be grateful for the intrusion on his thoughts, but seeing them seemed to reinforce the feeling of awkwardness and tension, even as he embraced each of them in turn.  
  
And he was ill at ease as they had tea and made themselves comfortable, as Geir told Nicholas about his week in practicing with the Orchestra of the Royal Opera House for the impending _Coppélia_ performance, and how he was feeling more and more anxious and wanted to get it done.  
  
"Yes, I think I understand a bit about what it's like being anxious to wait with something important," Nicholas said, thinking immediately of Sören and whether or not he and Sören were ever going to talk about the kiss in front of The Raven's Roost, and where they stood with each other, if Nicholas's feelings were one-sided or not.  
  
 _Not that you're initiating the conversation yourself._ Nicholas felt a pang of guilt at that, like it shouldn't necessarily be left for Sören to start when he had so much going on at any given time, and maybe Sören was feeling awkward since Sören was the one who kissed him.  
  
Geir and Karen exchanged glances, but if they knew what Nicholas was referring to, they said nothing.  
  
They ate on top of the rooftop garden, with Nicholas lighting the fairy lights for the occasion. As he looked over the railing down at the view of Covent Garden, he gave a little wistful sigh, wishing Sören was there.  
  
And when he sat down, Karen echoed that sentiment. "I wish Sören didn't have to work tonight," Karen said.  
  
"Indeed," Nicholas said. "He works so much."  
  
"He really gets busy," Geir said.  
  
Then Karen and Geir looked at each other and started snickering. As much as Nicholas had a distaste for slang and half the time he didn't know what the youth were talking about when they used it, this particular phrase had been in use long enough and he'd heard it enough from his students around campus and before class that he knew what it meant, knew Geir was making a double entendre.  
  
And before Nicholas could stop himself, he heard himself saying, "He seemed to be rather busy yesterday."  
  
Karen turned beetroot and Geir gave a guilty grin.  
  
"So, uh." Karen cleared her throat loudly. "We weren't exactly subtle about that."  
  
"So you did have..." Nicholas couldn't believe he was discussing this with them.  
  
"A threesome. Or a _ménage à trois_ , as the French would call it," Karen said, nodding.  
  
"I see." Nicholas met Geir's eyes. "I thought you were gay."  
  
"I am," Geir said. "When Karen and I are with Sören together, we're not..."  
  
Nicholas noticed the wording of it, the implication that it was routine. "So this... this has happened more than once?"  
  
"It's happened a few times, yeah." Karen bit her lip.  
  
Nicholas tried to not make a noise as he leaned back in his chair and sipped his wine, taking it all in. His face was on fire now, and not just from the wine. He still couldn't believe he was having this conversation. He couldn't believe the mental images he was having and trying not to have, of what exactly Karen, Geir, and Sören got up to together. And of course, now his mind went back to the dream he'd had... of himself, Sören, and Anthony Hewlett-Johnson together. Nicholas didn't want to think about that at all, least of all in front of the kids, but there they were. He looked at his watch and contemplated whether or not to call it an early night after dinner.  
  
"Dad, are you OK?" Geir asked.  
  
"I'm fine, Geir." Nicholas took a bite of his food. He chewed and swallowed. "Truly. Why do you ask?"  
  
"Because you seem a little... weirded out," Geir said.  
  
Karen nodded. "Is it too much for you? A little too kinky?"  
  
" _No_ ," Nicholas said, and the vehemence in his voice surprised and embarrassed him. He reflexively covered his mouth, and then he took another bite of food as he considered his response. When his mouth wasn't full he went on. "As you know, I shan't judge what consenting adults do. You know I'm fine with Sören's bisexuality, and with the fact that you're in an open relationship. A... a threesome... isn't a big step from there. There's no judgment from me."  
  
"But clearly, something about it is bothering you," Karen pressed.  
  
Nicholas gave her a look, but Karen was in barrister mode and not likely to drop it. "I won't lie," Nicholas said. "It's a bit unsettling for me to know so much about the sex lives of... my kids." That wasn't an untruth, nor was it the full truth as to why Nicholas was uncomfortable.  
  
And Karen knew it. "It's not just that." Karen sat back in her chair and folded her arms. "Dad, I saw how you kissed him yesterday. You weren't acting. And I've been noticing you making eyes at him for weeks now. You get all _gooey_ whenever either of us mention him around you."  
  
And Geir nodded. "You're in love with him, Dad. Just admit it."  
  
Nicholas's face burned even hotter. His heart went in his throat. _I was an idiot to think a former barrister wouldn't notice._ Nicholas put his utensils down and buried his face in his hands, holding back the tears, feeling strangely vulnerable in this exposure, like they'd seen into his soul and touched a raw wound he hadn't even known he'd had until very recently. Through the hands covering his face, he nodded. _Best not to lie, even if they hate me for it._  
  
Geir reached out and put a hand on Nicholas's arm. "It's OK, Dad."  
  
"Yeah. If you want to date him, go for it," Karen said. "Geir and I have talked about it and it's OK with us."  
  
Nicholas's hands slid down from his face and he stared at them for a moment, open-mouthed. On the one hand he was unsettled by the fact that his feelings were clearly so obvious that Geir and Karen had _a discussion_ \- possibly _discussions,_ plural - about it without him present. On the other hand he couldn't believe they were so accepting, not merely not upset that he had feelings for their boyfriend, but they were encouraging him to pursue those feelings.  
  
This was even stranger than his dream, and that had been _strange._  
  
"Are you quite sure?" Nicholas frowned, furrowing his brow. "As you know, Sören works a lot of hours, and I shan't take you away from him, but I don't know how he'd be able to fit it in -"  
  
"Oh, Sören fits it in just fine," Karen quipped, and immediately Nicholas wished he'd found a better turn of phrase, shaking his head as Geir laughed hysterically.  
  
"I'm being serious," Nicholas said.  
  
"Hi Being Serious," Karen said.  
  
Nicholas was tempted to throw a chicken bone at her, but he refrained. _I have to be the adult here._  
  
Karen saw the look on Nicholas's face, and she looked at Geir, and then they both nodded. Karen looked back at Nicholas and said, "Yes, Sören works a lot of hours. Admittedly it'd be a challenge for him to make time for all of us. But it's not impossible, especially if we communicate with each other honestly about our needs and expectations."  
  
Geir nodded.  
  
"OK... well... you say it's fine with you." Nicholas looked at each of them, and had another bite of food before he dropped the question. "The real concern is, _is it fine with Sören_? I'm rather... wary... of saying anything to him."  
  
Karen and Geir sighed in unison. They looked at each other again, and then Karen said, "I think you need to ask him that question yourself. Tell him how you feel, and let him tell you where you stand."  
  
Geir nodded. "You guys need to sit down and talk."  
  
"I..." Nicholas swallowed hard. Tears misted his eyes as he thought of a scenario where he made an arse of himself in front of Sören, and was rejected. "I don't know how. As you know, I haven't had much dating experience. That kiss with him yesterday was my first kiss. As you know, I'm still a virgin..."  
  
"OK, Dad. One thing at a time." Geir made a gesture as he took a deep breath. "Deep breaths, Dad."  
  
"Nobody's telling you to try to seduce him right away," Karen said, but the way she and Geir stole a glance at each other suggested they were mutually amused by that idea. Then Karen got serious again. "Just _talk_ to him. Ask him out for Valentine's Day. The worst he can do is say no."  
  
"Do you think he will?" Nicholas blinked back tears, not wanting to cry.  
  
"I think you really ought to hear that from him," Karen said, and Geir nodded.  
  
"Yeah, you guys definitely need to talk, if nothing else because of that kiss you had," Geir said.  
  
Nicholas wondered if Sören had told him about it. Nicholas took some deep breaths as Geir suggested, trying to calm down. He sipped his wine and considered. "I can't have that conversation with him today."  
  
"Well no, and he's at work till late besides," Karen said.  
  
"And I... I don't think I can do it tomorrow." Nicholas exhaled sharply. "I'm going to need a few days to work up my nerve and... practice what I'm going to say, so I don't sound like a babbling idiot." Even though he had a feeling that whenever he did get around to that conversation, he was going to end up losing his script in his anxiety and babbling like an idiot anyway.  
  
"A few days is fine," Karen said. "I think Sören is still reeling from the encounter with Anthony, anyway."  
  
"But don't put it off too long," Geir admonished.  
  
"No. You should give yourself a deadline to have this discussion, and _as you know_ , Valentine's Day is this week - Saturday the fourteenth -"  
  
"Oh dear god, is it a Friday the thirteenth this month?" Nicholas made a face.  
  
"Yes. Don't tell me you're superstitious," Karen said, looking a little surprised.  
  
Nicholas guffawed. "No." _Even though I had a dream that is making me question whether or not reincarnation is real._ "But a lot of people are, and in any case I don't want to deal with jokes about horror movies from my students all day..."  
  
"Awww, you don't like Jason?" Geir snickered.  
  
"Is that the lad in the hockey mask? No, not especially," Nicholas said. "I don't dislike horror altogether - I rather like the old Hammer Horror films -"  
  
"You'd make a good Dracula," Karen quipped.  
  
Nicholas shot her a look. " _Shan't._ " He went on, "It's these 'slasher' films I don't understand. I don't understand gore and edginess for its own sake, I'm afraid." Then Nicholas chuckled. "It seems rather fitting Valentine's Day is the day after a Friday the thirteenth this year, I feel that my... confession to Sören may turn out a total horror show."  
  
"Aww, Dad, you're too hard on yourself," Geir said.  
  
Karen nodded. "You won't know till you talk to him."  
  
Nicholas sighed. "So if Valentine's Day is on Saturday..."  
  
"You should talk to him by no later than Wednesday," Karen said. "I'd recommend you do it sooner than that so if he says yes, he can plan accordingly..."  
  
"I..." Nicholas shook his head. "It's already Sunday night. Monday or Tuesday seems too soon."  
  
"So Wednesday, then," Karen said, and Geir nodded vehemently.  
  
"I..."  
  
"We'll escort you to the National for moral support on Wednesday night when Sören has his break," Geir said, and now Karen nodded enthusiastically - her gaze was steely and Nicholas could feel the _you're not getting out of this, Dad_ in her eyes. Geir also nodded. "You can do it, Dad."  
  
"You _will_ do it. After what Sören's been through, you owe it to him to be honest with him," Karen said.  
  
And that made Nicholas sigh, feeling a sharp ache for the way Sören was hurt... how lonely Sören must have been, in the days, weeks, months following the breakup. "Yes, I rather wanted to have a word with this Anthony character about the way he broke Sören's heart."  
  
"He's a twatwaffle," Geir said.  
  
The turn of phrase made Karen howl, and, mellowed by the wine and needing to lighten the mood somewhat - either that or he was going to cry - Nicholas shook his head and said, "No, you're wrong. This Anthony Hewlett-Johnson is _a quimcake_."  
  
Geir spat his wine and leaned on Karen, laughing so hard he made inhuman noises. Karen's eyes widened with shock and her jaw dropped, and then she was shaking, wheezing with laughter, her eyes tearing up. "Dad, did you just..."  
  
"Yes, I just." Nicholas sipped his wine, pleased with himself.  
  
"I." Geir let out a low whistle. "Wow, Dad. Wow. I didn't even know you used that type of language."  
  
"Normally I don't," Nicholas said. "Normally I _shan't._ But in this case, it's merited."  
  
When they calmed down, Karen said, "Well, the only good thing I can say to have come out of the... situation... with Anthony and Sören is that Sören only does open relationships now." Karen cocked her head to one side. "And you know this going in."  
  
"I do," Nicholas said. "I'd be lying if I said I ever thought a prospective life partner would be... non-monogamous... but I'm not as young as I used to be and I'd worry about my ability to keep up with him, so... if it's what Sören needs, it's what Sören needs. Though..." Nicholas chuckled, thinking of the way Sören flirted with that redhaired girl in the antiques shop. "He is a bit of a shameless rakehell."  
  
Geir cracked up laughing again, and so did Karen. " _Rakehell_?" Geir snorted. "Is that like a rapscallion?"  
  
"Worse," Nicholas said. "Quite considerably worse."  
  
"Wow... that's... that's an old-fashioned word, Dad," Karen said. "Very quaint."  
  
"Is it more or less quaint than quimcake?" Nicholas asked, not able to help himself.  
  
Karen screamed with laughter, and Geir doubled over.  
  
  
_  
  
  
On Monday and Tuesday, Nicholas spent some of the evening standing in front of the mirror and composing, rehearsing a speech to deliver to Sören at the National on Wednesday night. But even though giving regular lectures was part of his job, as a professor, everything he put in his planned speech to Sören seemed laughably earnest, and even if Nicholas had been able to string together something impeccably elegant, there seemed to be no words at all that did justice to his feelings for Sören. He was a man obsessed, and Sören was his magnificent obsession.  
  
Sören consumed him, like a living flame.  
  
Nicholas kept thinking of that kiss, how passionate it was - the greater passion it hinted at, what Sören was like as a lover. For all of Nicholas's expressed concern on Sunday night that he didn't know if he could keep up with Sören's needs at his age, he found himself masturbating twice on Sunday, and three times on Monday.  
  
The three times might have been overdoing it, because on Tuesday he was just _tired_. And that, too, affected the speech he was rehearsing. His voice sounded a little hoarse, which he chalked up to speaking more than usual, what with the practicing of the speech... but then his throat was sore, too. He went to bed early on Tuesday night, despite his anxiety about the prospect of going to the National in less than twenty-four hours and declaring his intentions. He was exhausted, and achy. _This whole 'having feelings' business is taking its toll on me._  
  
Nicholas woke up on Wednesday morning aching even more, like he hadn't slept at all, and he had the most godawful headache, that taking ibuprofen with his morning coffee would not fix. He considered calling out of work, but he disliked having to do that unless absolutely necessary. _It's probably just nerves. I'll feel better once this talk with Sören is over and done with._  
  
So Nicholas went to UCL. At least his Wednesdays were his shortest workday of the week, and he somehow made it through class. He wasn't happy about it, though - it felt like the thermostat was broken, he was shivering by the time class was over and it was time to go home.  
  
Back in his warm flat, with the woodstove on, Nicholas still had chills. And now his nose was running and he was starting to sneeze. He made himself hot tea and thought about calling Karen or Geir to let them know he wasn't feeling well enough to go to the National later, but after his tea he needed to stretch out on the couch, and with a blanket draped on him and Tobias purring away on his chest, he felt himself fading.  
  
He was woken up to the sound of Karen and Geir letting themselves in. "Hey, Dad, we're here to..." Karen's voice trailed off as she saw Nicholas on the couch.  
  
Nicholas tried to sit up - his head was pounding - and he let out a fierce sneeze that scared Tobias, jumping off him and slurking under the couch.  
  
" _Velsigne deg_ ," Geir said, looking worried.  
  
"Dad, no offense but you look like shit," Karen said. "Are you all right?"  
  
"It's just..." Nicholas sneezed. "A little cold, I think." He started to shiver so hard his teeth chattered. "I meant to tell you, I don't think I can go..." He sneezed again. "To the National tonight. I was going to call you and I fell asleep."  
  
Karen put her hands on her hips. "OK. Sounds like you have flu, not a cold."  
  
"Yeah." Geir's eyes narrowed. "Have you eaten anything today?"  
  
"Not hungry," Nicholas said.  
  
Karen and Geir looked at each other. Then Karen shook her head. "That's it. You're coming home with us, and we're going to feed you."  
  
"But Tobias -"  
  
"We'll put him in a carrier and bring him too," Karen said, turning off the woodstove. "Actually, I'd feel safer if you stayed with us for a couple of days till you felt better. Influenza can be dangerous at your age -"  
  
"Oh for heaven's _sake_ , Karen, I'm sixty-six, not a hundred." Nicholas scowled, feeling more annoyed than that comment would usually make him - not the least of which because he didn't need to be reminded of how his age might affect things with Sören. _Sören._ Nicholas groaned, knowing he had to have that talk with Sören soon, but he felt too bloody awful right now.  
  
"My point still stands," Karen said. "Do you want to go upstairs and pack pajamas and some clothes, or..."  
  
"I can do it," Geir volunteered.  
  
"That would be appreciated," Nicholas said, knowing they weren't going to take "no" for an answer. "My arthritis is a bit worse when I'm like this."  
  
"Right," Geir said. "Be down in a few minutes."  
  
Just the short walk from his place to Geir and Karen's felt like a marathon. By the time they got in Geir and Karen's flat, Nicholas's head was spinning and he felt like he'd definitely overdone it, short of breath in a way he normally wasn't, and now he had a violent coughing fit as Karen put him on the couch. Geir let Tobias out of the carrier and Nicholas watched as the little cat timidly stepped out and began sniffing around.  
  
"I'm very sorry," Nicholas said, hating the weakness he heard in his voice. "I don't want to impose -"  
  
Karen waved her hand dismissively. "You're family, Dad. This is what we do for each other."  
  
Geir nodded. "You take care of us every week and sometimes more than that. Let us take care of you for once."  
  
Nicholas groaned. "As you wish." Then he sneezed again, and despite the heat of the flat he was getting another attack of the chills, painfully chattering his teeth.  
  
Karen gave him a tight smile. "Geir, can you go to the medicine cabinet and see if we have any cold medicine?"  
  
Geir nodded and took off. Karen sat down in an armchair and Tobias climbed onto her lap, purring. Though Karen was trying to smile and look positive and chipper, Nicholas could see the concern in her eyes. Nicholas didn't want to be concerned. _I'm only sixty-six. That's not as old as it used to be._  
  
And yet, when he was this ill, he felt absolutely ancient. _Old soul, indeed._


	10. Confession

It was nine in the morning and Sören was at the National, making his way down the hall to see a patient for a consult for a surgery they'd be having in two weeks. His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Sören didn't like to take calls at work, and he was going to let it go to voice mail, but then something nagged at him and he took out his phone and saw Karen's number.  
  
Karen did not, as a rule, call him when he was at work, and that meant something was wrong.  
  
Sören's heart began to race as he swiped to accept. "Jæja?"  
  
"Hi, Sören, sorry to bother you -"  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
Karen took a deep breath. "Nicholas is really sick."  
  
"When you say sick, you mean..." _Oh god. Oh no._  
  
"Geir and I made him come over last night because he was too ill to make himself something to eat, and he's burning up. I took his temperature and it's thirty-eight point three. Geir and I thought about whether or not he should go to the hospital but we decided to ask you first, since you're a doctor -"  
  
Sören exhaled sharply. "He shouldn't go to the hospital unless absolutely necessary. Even though the NHS is strict about hygienic protocol, he could still get sicker if he goes to a hospital and is exposed to other people's germs. And thirty-eight-three is concerning, the flu at his age is concerning, but it can still be managed at home right now. He shouldn't go in unless he needs procedures he can't have at home, like if his fever gets much higher or he needs oxygen or something. We also don't want to lose a bed for someone who does need it."  
  
"OK. I'm still worried -"  
  
"Me too." The thought of losing Nicholas - Tears stung Sören's eyes but he would not fall apart. Not yet.  
  
"When you say concerning, do you think I should call out his general practitioner, have him make a house call? Geir's at the Royal Ballet - he wanted to stay home and I made him go - and I'm on my way to work and I'd have to stay here to let the doctor in, though I've been thinking about calling out today because he shouldn't be alone..."  
  
And that was when pure impulse kicked in, not thinking, just feeling. Just doing. His instincts as both a doctor and as someone who cared deeply about Nicholas - someone who loved him - converged, sharp and strong. "I have this consult and then I'm coming right over. Well... let me rephrase that. Do you have supplies on hand?"  
  
"Tobias is here, Geir ran out and got cat food and litter and a box last night -"  
  
"That's not what I mean. Do you have anything like sports drinks? Broth or bouillion?"  
  
"Er, no -"  
  
"OK. I'm going to do this consult, stop at home to get some clothes for a few days, and then stop at the store on my way there. Please call me if... things... you know. Escalate."  
  
"OK, will do." Karen sighed. "Thank you, Sören. You're a lifesaver."  
  
"It's literally my job."  
  
After Sören's consult he found Ed making the rounds and pulled him aside. "I need to go home," Sören said matter-of-factly. "Family emergency."  
  
"OK." Ed nodded.  
  
"I'm going to need a few days, because. Family emergency." Sören swallowed hard. He felt guilty about it, knowing that at least one or two other people were going to get extra hours to pick up the slack and everyone was always stretched for time - he tried not to cringe as he remembered the four months of hell working one hundred hours a week in 2013. Sören also knew that he, too, would be picking up more hours when he returned to work, to give his relief a break. But he would feel worse if he didn't go and take care of Nicholas.  
  
 _God, I've got it bad._  
  
"I understand," Ed said. "Good luck, I hope everything with your family works out."  
  
" _Takk._ I'm really sorry -"  
  
"It happens. We'll hold down the fort till you return."  
  
Sören called a taxi before he scrubbed out, and then his heart pounded as he waited for the taxi. Once he was in the cab his mind played worst-case-scenario after worst-case-scenario - Nicholas burning up and going into shock. Nicholas needing a ventilator, dying on the ventilator. Sören was in tears when the cab stopped in front of his building in Holborn, and Sören forced himself to pull together - to try to detach from the personal nature and go back into cold, clinical, medical professional mode as he rushed up to his flat and packed a duffel bag with a change of clothes for the next few days, his Wacom tablet, Tony the tiger and Bláberja the bunny, and the Pusheen blanket that Nicholas had given him for Christmas.  
  
Sören further put himself in crisis management mode as the cab brought him to the store and he loaded up on Gatorade, for the electrolytes, and some containers of broth and boxes of saltine crackers, a bunch of bananas. But then the panic overtook him again as he waited in line at the cash register, screaming internally as his mind continued to play scenarios of Nicholas suffering, dying.  
  
Sören allowed himself a few silent tears in the back of the cab from the supermarket to Karen and Geir's building, a little pressure release to avoid having a bigger meltdown later when he needed to keep a cool head. The cab driver noticed he was upset and politely handed him a wad of tissues.  
  
Once he arrived at Karen and Geir's place, Sören paid the cab driver and gave him a generous tip, and shook his head as the driver said it was "too much". Sören unloaded the cab and lugged everything, feeling like a pack mule. Karen opened the door before Sören could put his key in the lock.  
  
"Sören, if I'd known you were getting that much, you could have called me to come down and -"  
  
"It's all right." Sören watched as Karen took his duffel bag, and he carried in the groceries. "Where is he?"  
  
"Upstairs, in Geir's bedroom."  
  
"OK." Sören washed his hands in the kitchen sink, then began loading the drinks into the fridge. "So you said he has a temp of thirty-three-eight... what are his other symptoms? What's going on?"  
  
"Chills, body aches, sneezing, coughing, sore throat, and uh... bathroom." Karen made a face, and Sören nodded.  
  
"Is he struggling for breath at all?" Sören asked.  
  
"No," Karen said.  
  
"OK. I should have asked you that on the phone when you asked if he should go to the hospital or not, but it was on the assumption that you would have told me."  
  
"I would have," Karen said, nodding.  
  
"Has he been given anything for his symptoms?"  
  
"We gave him some nighttime cold medicine last night, but that didn't seem to do much except knock him out. He's worse today than he was last night."  
  
"And has he eaten yet today?"  
  
"We made him some toast but he wasn't hungry and said he had stomach cramps."  
  
"And when's the last time you checked on him?"  
  
"A little less than an hour ago. I feel like I should check on him more but I kept waking him up and I don't want to disturb his sleep -"  
  
"No, I get it. You're doing what you can." Sören rubbed his face, trying to get back into professional mode, stave off the anxiety. "All right." Tobias came over and rubbed against Sören's legs, and Sören stooped down to pet him. "Awwww, kitty. Is this a new, strange place? You know our daddy isn't feeling good, huh?" And at the words _our daddy_ , Sören's cheeks burned. He thought of that kiss again.  
  
The thought of never kissing Nicholas again filled him with a wild, desperate grief.  
  
Sören put a Gatorade in the freezer to chill it quickly, and after he shut the freezer door he leaned his head against it and exhaled. Karen put her arms around Sören.  
  
"I really appreciate you coming out here," Karen said. "I feel kind of bad, like I should stay home -"  
  
"I'm the doctor." Sören tilted his face and gave her a little kiss.  
  
"But I don't want you getting sick, either -"  
  
"Well, we all get flu shots every year. It isn't necessarily one hundred percent effective - the last time I had flu was 2013, when..." Sören didn't want to think about that, but there it was. "But my immune system was being strained from working a hundred hours a week for months, so it's not really surprising I got sick. These days, I'm not working so much. And I'm better fed." Sören gave a bitter little laugh.  
  
"OK."  
  
"Besides. It's Nicholas." Sören closed his eyes. "He's... he's important to me."  
  
"I know." Karen's arms tightened around him and she kissed his cheek.  
  
"So speaking of... I'm going to get changed out of these germy scrubs, and then go upstairs and bring this to him."  
  
Karen gave him a little smile. "Hi Going To Get Changed Out Of These Germy Scrubs And Then -"  
  
"Jæja, you're terrible." Sören grinned as he kissed the tip of her nose, grateful that he had at least one partner who understood the need for laughter during difficult times. That was one of the things he missed the most about Anthony - the way they used to make each other laugh, their silly in-jokes, collapsing together in hysterics. But Nicholas being more serious didn't mean Sören loved him any less; Sören was on a mission to make him happy, delighting in the moments when the ice thawed and he could get Nicholas to smile or laugh with him.  
  
Sören got his professional medical kit out of his duffel bag, which had an infrared thermometer and a blood pressure cuff in it among other instruments. Then he went to the downstairs restroom and changed into jeans and a blue plaid flannel shirt over his Nine Inch Nails "Pretty Hate Machine" shirt, favoring layers in case he got too warm. Before he left the bathroom he raided the medicine cabinet and found a bottle of ibuprofen, which he put in his pocket. Then he went back to the kitchen, took the Gatorade out of the freezer and marched upstairs with the Gatorade in one hand and the medical kit in the other, with Tobias trotting along beside him.  
  
He heard Nicholas before he saw him. There was a groan down the hall as if Nicholas was in pain, and then Sören heard Nicholas calling out, " _Á apsene ni._ "  
  
 _Oh god, he's so feverish he's speaking French,_ Sören thought to himself, and took a deep breath as he paused outside the door to Geir's bedroom.  
  
Nicholas's usually olive complexion was more pallid, and he was sweating, flushed, the sheets and blankets tangled and twisted as he writhed in his sleep. " _Vá! Á pusta!_ "  
  
"Nick," Sören said. "Nick, it's me. Sören." Sören came forward, slowly, with the bottle of Gatorade and the thermometer. He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, and Tobias got up on the bed with him, purring, climbing on Nicholas and kneading.  
  
Nicholas's eyes opened, glassy, wild with fever-madness. He looked at Sören. "Náro?"  
  
"Shhhhh. It's OK." That wasn't like any French that Sören had ever heard, though he hadn't had much exposure to the language, and he wondered if it was some regional dialect variation. "Here." Sören opened the medical kit and got out the infrared thermometer. He pointed it at Nicholas's forehead, watched the red light, and Tobias's tail began to twitch, climbing up on Nicholas's shoulder. Just before Tobias could swat at the light, the thermometer beeped. It was thirty-eight-point-eight, which had gone up from the last check of thirty-eight-three. Sören scowled.  
  
"Have something to drink," Sören said, and thrust the Gatorade at Nicholas, then propped up some pillows so Nicholas could sit up. As Nicholas drank, Sören put the blood pressure cuff on his other arm and watched as it pumped up. Nicholas grimaced as the cuff tightened on his arm, and then he glared at Sören.  
  
 _Well, at least he can still bitchface. That's a good sign._ And even ill, Sören found Nicholas handsome, giving him that giddy, bashful feeling all over again. "I'm sorry," Sören said. "I know it's tight." Sören stopped himself before he could follow up with, _That's what he said._ His mind still went into the gutter, thinking about what it would be like to feel Nicholas inside him... or be inside Nicholas. _OK, now is not the time for that, Jesus._  
  
The blood pressure cuff was ready, and Sören took the reading: 120 over 80, which was excellent for a man Nicholas's age. "Good," Sören said as he took the cuff off Nicholas's arm. He pulled the ibuprofen bottle out of his pocket, shook out two, and handed them to Nicholas. "Fever reducer and pain relief," Sören said. "And then I want you to think about eating something because I don't like you taking that on an empty stomach."  
  
Nicholas gave Sören a withering look, but did as he was told, swallowing the pills down with Gatorade. Then Nicholas said, "You should be at work."  
  
"I told them I had a family emergency," Sören said. "So you're stuck with me the next few days."  
  
"Emergency?" Nicholas snorted. "I'm not _dying._ "  
  
"You better not be." Sören patted him and took his empty bottle of Gatorade. The mere thought of Nicholas dying brought Sören back to that edge of hysteria, and he exhaled sharply. _Pull yourself together._  
  
"I'm not hungry," Nicholas said.  
  
"You're going to eat something. You've been sweating a lot and, uh, visiting the restroom more, já? How about I make you some broth with some crackers?"  
  
"If you insist."  
  
"I do." Sören patted him again - he fought the urge to lean down and kiss Nicholas's damp brow - and then he went downstairs.  
  
Karen had already gone. Sören felt a little weird using her kitchen, but then, he had a key to her place and Karen and Geir had insisted more than once to make himself at home when he was over. Sören set about heating up some chicken broth, and went upstairs with the hot broth and a side of saltines. Nicholas had fallen back asleep, and Tobias was curled up next to him, watching over him.  
  
"Nick, I brought you food," Sören said.  
  
" _Quistanyes._ "  
  
Nicholas sat up. The broth was in a large mug, though Sören had provided a spoon. Sure enough, even though he was ill, Nicholas still had enough semblance of his formal manners to attempt to use a spoon a few times, but his hands were shaking and he was weak enough that even moving a spoon around seemed like too much effort. Sören's hands steadied his as Nicholas sipped the broth straight from the mug, and just that little touch sent fire coursing through Sören's veins, even as now was the least appropriate time to be thinking of him that way.  
  
When the broth was finished, Nicholas had a coughing fit. The sound of the cough made Sören wince, knowing what that must feel like, and he worried, hoping Nicholas wouldn't choke or asphyxiate. But the coughing fit passed, and Nicholas sat there, winded.  
  
Sören proffered the saltines. "You need to keep your strength up."  
  
Nicholas shook his head at the saltines. "Not now."  
  
"Fair enough. At least you've got a little something in your system." Sören watched as Nicholas lay back down, and Sören straightened out the covers and tucked Nicholas in up to his chin. Tobias came closer, purring, kneading on Nicholas.  
  
"Hello, little friend," Nicholas said, smiling weakly at his cat.  
  
"He's here to purr you better," Sören said, giving Tobias some skritchings, and then, without thinking about it, before he could stop himself, he skritched Nicholas's beard fondly as well. Nicholas gave him a genuine smile, eyes crinkled at the corners.  
  
"You're a dear," Nicholas said.  
  
"I am not Bambi."  
  
Nicholas gave him a look, and Sören grinned, and then Nicholas gave an affectionate eyeroll and another little smile before he closed his eyes.  
  
Sören sat vigil at the chair beside Nicholas's bed. He tried to distract himself from anxiety and catastrophizing by sketching on his Wacom tablet, but he kept stealing glances at Nicholas, watching, observing, making sure he was still breathing.  
  
A couple of hours after Sören began sketching, Nicholas got up with a groan, and rushed to the bathroom. He came back more slowly, and he had chills again by the time he returned to bed. Sören went to the linen closet down the hall to get an extra blanket, and after he tucked Nicholas in he went to the bathroom to sanitize the toilet and surfaces - something he knew he'd be doing a lot of over the coming days. Sören came back and Nicholas was shuddering, teeth chattering, moaning with discomfort.  
  
"It's OK." Sören sat on the edge of his bed and found himself rubbing Nicholas's back through the covers. "It's all right. It's going to be all right." He didn't know that for sure, but he still needed to give that assurance anyway, to both of them.  
  
Tobias whined, knowing Nicholas wasn't doing well, and gave him a few headbutts before Nicholas had another coughing fit. Sören felt sad for him, knowing this was no fun, and Sören continued to make little soothing noises, rubbing Nicholas's back. "It's all right, Nick. We're gonna get through this."  
  
Nicholas eventually went back to sleep, and Sören resumed working on his Wacom tablet. He'd just been doodling before now, but now he was sketching what he recognized as the other brother-lover from his dreams - not Anthony - wearing intricate chainmaille armor, carrying a sword and a shield set with crystals. Sören broke into gooseflesh when he realized what he was drawing. Part of why losing Anthony was so devastating was their shared dreams - they were both skeptical atheists, and yet they couldn't shake the sense that they were dreaming something real, something they'd lived through together. And when their relationship fell apart, Sören wondered if it was all bullshit, even as in his dreams things had fallen apart then, too. Sören didn't know if any of that was real, and it seemed like wishful thinking that Nicholas was his other brother. And yet, here he was sketching him, feeling that liminal energy around him, like he was awakening something with his stylus.  
  
The hours passed. Nicholas slept fitfully, throwing off the covers as he drenched the sheets with sweat once more. Sören used the infrared thermometer to take his temperature again and it was thirty-eight-point-three - still not good, but better than thirty-eight-point-eight.  
  
Sören went downstairs and got Nicholas more Gatorade. "You need to drink," Sören said, gently shaking him awake.  
  
Nicholas made a noise of protest, but he sat up, and promptly had a coughing fit. Sören sat with him, anxiety rising as he watched Nicholas hack and heave, feeling helpless. When the coughing fit subsided, Nicholas drank the Gatorade. "I think I shall try the saltines now," Nicholas said.  
  
"Good." Having even a little appetite was a good sign. Sören reached over for the packet of crackers. "You need me to feed you, or -"  
  
" _Shan't._ " And then Nicholas blinked, as if he were surprised by his vehemence. Then Nicholas said, "I... I'd prefer to try, if that's..."  
  
"It's fine. I understand a few things about pride." Sören bit back the bitter laugh that followed that statement, and handed the crackers to Nicholas.  
  
Nicholas hesitated, and Sören wondered if he was going to go back and say that he did, in fact, need help, but then Nicholas asked, "May I have a towel? I don't want to make a mess in the bed..."  
  
"Oh... yeah... sorry about that." Sören rushed down the hall and came back with a towel. He spread it over Nicholas like a bib, and when he took a few steps back he couldn't help smiling, thinking Nicholas looked adorable. Watching him nibble on a cracker made it worse. Then Nicholas glared at Sören, as if to say _do you mind_ , and Sören sat back down, face burning, feeling self-conscious that he was looking at him like that, and especially that he still found Nicholas so damned attractive even when he was like this.  
  
 _God, I_ really _have it bad._  
  
Nicholas finished about a third of the package before he had another coughing fit. Sören brought up more Gatorade - a fresh bottle for now, and another for later. He took the towel and put it in the laundry hamper, came back and tucked Nicholas back in. "Rest," he said.  
  
Nicholas grumbled, but exhaustion overtook him and he went back to sleep.  
  
Sören resumed sketching, and keeping watch, every so often pausing his work to glance over at Nicholas and make sure he was all right. Nicholas continued to toss and turn and moan in discomfort and pain, and Sören ached for him.  
  
The worst was when Nicholas began to cry out, "Náro! Náro!"  
  
"Shhhh, Nick. It's OK. You're having a bad dream," Sören said, reaching out to pat him.  
  
"Náro," Nicholas called out, and took Sören's hand.  
  
" _Manan mennel?_ " Nicholas asked.  
  
"What?"  
  
" _Merin auta. Túlan. Tuluvan. Tullen varien le._ "  
  
"I don't speak French, Nick."  
  
Sören heard movement downstairs. He had a feeling that was Geir, confirmed by the light, near-silent footfall up the steps a few minutes later. Geir poked his head in the door.  
  
"Hi," Geir said. "Karen said you were here. How's Dad?"  
  
"Having fever dreams," Sören said, wincing. He'd had some hellacious fever-induced nightmares himself in the past, and he wondered what was going through Nicholas's head.  
  
"Awwww, poor guy." Geir lingered, arms folded. "How are _you_ holding up? Can I get you anything?"  
  
Sören realized finally he needed to eat and drink something too. "Coffee or tea would be nice. And some water to go with it, if you don't mind."  
  
"No, I don't. I'll be right back."  
  
Geir came back with a thermos of coffee and two bottles of water for Sören, who accepted it with a " _takk_." Then, as Sören drank water, he asked Geir, "How was practice?"  
  
"Good," Geir said. Geir sighed and patted him. "I'm glad you're here. I was going to stay home, but Karen made me go to practice. I didn't sleep well last night, worrying about him..."  
  
"I know," Sören said, nodding. "Well, the doctor is in."  
  
"Is he?" Geir smirked, and Sören realized the innuendo and facepalmed, snickering.  
  
Then Geir said, "I really need a shower, and then a nap. I'd invite you to join me, but -"  
  
"I'd feel guilty about leaving his side when he's like this," Sören said.  
  
"I understand." Geir kissed his cheek. "We'll take a rain check."  
  
"We sure will."  
  
Sören felt a little pang as Geir wandered off, but he was glad Geir wasn't jealous at all. Not that he'd talked about his feelings with Nicholas yet.  
  
It was one thing to sweep those feelings under the rug when life had been as usual, but now, the thought of Nicholas possibly dying and not knowing how he felt sat very badly with Sören, and he knew that he was going to have to talk about it, sooner rather than later.  
  
But when Nicholas woke again, to go to the bathroom, he was in so much obvious discomfort, shaking and groaning, staggering there and back, that Sören didn't think it was the right time. Nor when Nicholas woke a little while later with another coughing fit. Sören gave him more Gatorade, took his temperature - holding steady at thirty-eight-three - and another two ibuprofen.  
  
Karen got home later in the evening, having gone to class after her shift at the gift shop. As soon as Sören heard her come up the stairs he rose from his chair, and met her at the door of Geir's room, giving her a fierce, tight hug and a kiss.  
  
"How is he?" Karen asked.  
  
"Not better, but not worse, either," Sören said.  
  
"OK." Karen nodded. "How are you?"  
  
Sören made a noise. "Worried. Stressed. But I'll manage."  
  
Karen frowned. "Do you mind if we order pizza tonight? Yes, Geir is going to cheat on his low-carb diet,” she said at the incredulous look. “Geir and I both didn't sleep well last night and it's been a long, long day..."  
  
"No, I don't mind at all."  
  
"Do you have any preferences?"  
  
"I like just about anything," Sören said.  
  
"OK. I'll place the call once I get changed."  
  
Sören ended up dozing off a little in the chair next to the bed, and Karen woke him up with a plate of pizza with sausage, mushrooms, peppers and black olives on it. She had a smaller plate with a slice for Nicholas. "If he gets hungry," Karen said.  
  
"Thank you." Sören gave her a hug.  
  
Sören woke Nicholas up, who startled. "Would you like pizza?"  
  
Nicholas shook his head and moaned. "Maybe later."  
  
Sören went to wash his hands, came back to scold Tobias, who was eyeing his pizza with interest, then sat and nibbled his pizza and tried not to worry but his mind started playing worst-case scenarios again. The volume on his worries got turned up when Nicholas rushed off to the bathroom, and came back chattering, coughing.  
  
Sören paused his meal to take Nicholas's temperature - no change - and then his blood pressure - no change. Nicholas grumbled about the blood pressure cuff. "Why is that necessary," Nicholas growled.  
  
"So I can make sure this isn't affecting your heart," Sören said. "That's a concern at..." Sören didn't finish with _your age_ , with the look Nicholas was giving him. "But your blood pressure is remarkable."  
  
Nicholas sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm being grumpy, I know."  
  
"Well... you don't feel good."  
  
"Feel well," Nicholas corrected.  
  
Sören laughed. He patted Nicholas, delighted that Nicholas was still himself, even as sick as he was. "You should at least have some more crackers. I can make you more broth."  
  
Sören brought him another towel, and went downstairs with his dirty plate and to put Nicholas's untouched pizza in the fridge. He made more broth and got more water for himself and more Gatorade for Nicholas, putting the drinks in a bag for ease of transport. When he came back, he was just in time to watch Tobias steal a cracker from Nicholas, and he laughed so hard he ended up spilling broth on his shirt.  
  
"Oh, shit," Sören said. He handed the broth to Nicholas, put the drinks down, and without thinking, took off his flannel shirt and then the wet T-shirt right in front of Nicholas. It was time to get changed, anyway.  
  
Sören went back downstairs to get his duffel bag and came up with it, still shirtless. As he fished a clean T-shirt out of the bag, he felt eyes on him, and turned around to see Nicholas was looking at him. Then Sören realized he had his shirt off - Icelanders were very casual about nudity, and Sören had to remind himself that Brits were much less casual about it.  
  
And then Sören thought this would be a prime opportunity to ask Nicholas if he liked what he saw, and jokingly ease in the conversation about feelings. But as he opened his mouth to prompt that discussion, no sound came out. He couldn't make words. He closed his mouth, feeling like an idiot.  
  
Nicholas needed more rest after his broth and saltines - he was back to sweating, shaking, making small noises of discomfort, glassy-eyed, and Sören turned off the big light in the room, putting on a smaller table lamp for himself. He tucked Nicholas in, and then sat down with the Pusheen blanket draped over him. "Good night, Daddy," Sören said, watching Nicholas doze off. "Sweet dreams."  
  
Nicholas gave him a little smile, and mumbled, " _Vanesselya palan-síla._ "  
  
  
_  
  
  
Even though Sören knew it would be fine with Karen or Geir to climb in bed beside them, Sören didn't feel right about leaving Nicholas's side that night, and slept in the chair beside the bed. Or, at least, he tried to sleep. More than once, Nicholas woke him up with the sound of a coughing fit, or going to and from the bathroom, shaking, teeth chattering, moaning. Sören's mind also did a good job on its own of making sure he didn't sleep well, waking him up every so often with a panic attack, needing to check on Nicholas and make sure he was still breathing.  
  
Before Karen and Geir left on Friday morning, Sören took Nicholas's temperature again - no change.  
  
"You look like hell," Karen said. "You should consider taking a nap in my bed while I'm at work."  
  
Sören still felt reluctant to take his eyes off Nicholas, but he knew that if he didn't take care of himself he wouldn't be any good to anyone, and would risk getting sick himself, so after he made sure Nicholas ate broth and saltines and a banana, he took a shower. Then, after putting on a fresh T-shirt and pajama bottoms, since he wasn't going anywhere, he crawled into Karen's bed and watched Nemo swim around in his tank until the exhaustion set in enough for him to sleep.  
  
Sören once again had the dreams of burning to death, that had plagued him since he was four, but they were even more vivid this time. Then he felt himself rising up and up and up, and then falling down and down and down into darkness. And in the darkness he was allowed to see the dark-haired brother, taking up the very sword and shield he'd sketched, facing down a titan, many times his size, wearing a horned helm and wielding a massive hammer like the stereotype of Thor, but like some demon, a creature of the abyss. Sören could feel the rage in his brother - the madness of grief - and saw him lame the foul creature before he fell... one last vision of other-Sören in his eyes before the sight in them went out.  
  
Sören woke up to the sound of Nicholas screaming, and he tore out of Karen's bed and rushed down the hall, heart slamming in his ears. Nicholas gave another cry like he'd been wounded, and Sören was right beside him. "Shhhh, Nick. Shhhh, Daddy, I'm here. Sören's here. Shhhhhh."  
  
"Náro. Náro."  
  
"Shhhhh. It's OK."  
  
Nicholas was burning up, profusely sweating. Sören took his temperature - thirty-eight-point-eight again. Nicholas coughed and wheezed, and Sören wondered if the time had come for him to go to the hospital, but he was still reluctant to make that call just yet.  
  
At the hospital, they would pack anyone with a high fever in ice. Sören went downstairs, made up some ice packs, and brought them upstairs. He gave Nicholas more ibuprofen and then put ice packs on Nicholas's forehead and chest and abdomen. Nicholas winced as if he were in pain and Sören frowned. "I know it's cold," Sören said.  
  
Nicholas went back to sleep, and Sören sat there with him, holding the ice packs against his chest and stomach until they started to melt. He took the damp washcloths the ice was packed in and wet Nicholas down under his pajamas, trying to not get aroused, trying to keep it clinical.  
  
Nicholas slept, and Sören tried to get back to his sketch but the nightmare was haunting him too much, and he was too exhausted to really concentrate well. He was also worried about Nicholas, glancing over and glancing over until he was just staring, the tablet down on the table next to him. Tobias looked worried too, not leaving Nicholas's side, keeping vigil.  
  
Sören's eyes got heavy again, even though he was reluctant to go back to sleep and revisit that horrible nightmare. Then, just as he was dozing off, he heard Nicholas cry out, " _Helca ná._ "  
  
Sören sighed. "I don't speak French, dude," he muttered.  
  
" _Ringa ná. Helce lá mára nin..._ "  
  
Nicholas had chills again, the rigors more intense than Sören had seen before. Sören bundled Nicholas back up in the bedding and then Nicholas reached out for him, urgent as he moaned, " _Helca ná._ "  
  
Sören didn't understand a word of what he was saying, but he got the sense Nicholas was complaining about the cold of his chills, even as he was still hot to the touch. Sören was dead tired...  
  
...and that was how he found himself climbing in beside Nicholas on the other side of the bed, holding Nicholas close, sharing his body warmth. Sören was in fact so warm that he took his shirt off. "There," Sören said. "This should warm you up."  
  
After a few minutes Nicholas's rigors stopped, and he began to breathe slower, easier, seeming less panicked than he was in the throes of the chills. Tobias lay on top of the covers across them, kneading and purring. Sören reached out to skritch Tobias, and then Nicholas did too, and then Nicholas skritched Sören's beard as if he were a cat too, and Sören giggled, skritching Nicholas back.  
  
Nicholas gave him a sleepy smile. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.  
  
"Hi Sorry."  
  
Nicholas glared, and then he snuggled closer, the smile returning. "You're so warm."  
  
"I'm Sören."  
  
"You know..."  
  
"I know."  
  
Now Nicholas was holding him too, and Sören sighed - it felt so _right_ to be in his arms like this.  
  
Nicholas was still burning up, despite the ice packs. Sören was worried, but he was also ready to drop, and the cozy feeling of being here in his arms, with Tobias purring away on top of them, didn't help him in the fight against the need for sleep. But Sören held out as long as he could, watching Nicholas doze off, seeming to be in a better place than he was before.  
  
And then, just before Sören could succumb to the urge to sleep, Nicholas stirred against him, and mumbled something incoherently. Sören rubbed his back a little. "Shhhhh, sleep," Sören whispered. "You need your rest."  
  
"I need you," Nicholas muttered back.  
  
Sören's eyes widened.  
  
Nicholas snuggled into him again, arms tightening around him, and Nicholas gave a sleepy mumble of "I love you, sweetheart," before fading once more.  
  
Sören lay there, eyes wide, mouth open, completely shocked. He couldn't believe he just heard that, and now he wondered if he himself was ill, running a fever, and hallucinating. He grabbed the infrared thermometer and took his own temperature - it was normal.  
  
Tobias narrowed his eyes and gave him a smug little cat smile before he flexed and curled up into a ball, purring harder.  
  
Before Sören's mind could spin too much about what he'd just heard and what it meant, the sound and feel of Nicholas's breath, and the sound and feel of Tobias purring away lulled him to sleep.  
  
  
_  
  
"Sören, wake up."  
  
Sören woke up with a start, and saw Karen standing in the doorway of Geir's room. Then he turned and saw Nicholas - breathing a little sigh of relief that Nicholas was still breathing. Nicholas was still asleep, a deep enough sleep that Karen's voice didn't wake him.  
  
"Sorry." Karen bit her lower lip. "I didn't mean to startle you..."  
  
"No, it's... it's OK."  
  
"Dinner's ready," Karen said. "I cooked. You can eat downstairs with us if you want to." Karen gave him a look that said even if he didn't want to tear himself away from Nicholas, she and Geir still really wanted to spend time with him.  
  
"OK, give me a minute. I want to get some more fluid in him, check his temp."  
  
"Such a doctor," Karen chuckled. But then she nodded. "Thank you."  
  
As Karen walked off, Sören gently shook Nicholas awake. His skin felt cooler to the touch - much cooler than before, almost clammy from having sweated so much. Nicholas gave a little whine of protest, then he opened his eyes.  
  
Sören took out the infrared thermometer again. Tobias perked up at the red light, and once again looked ready to pounce as Sören pointed it at Nicholas's forehead. "Tobias, do not even _think of it,_ you rapscallion," Nicholas scolded.  
  
Sören laughed so hard he shook too much to do the reading, and when he calmed down he had to do it again, which made Nicholas glare at him, and that made it even funnier to Sören, who tried very hard to control himself as he pointed the thermometer at Nicholas again. "Stick em up," Sören said. Then he thought of Nicholas's cock and wished he hadn't said that.  
  
The thermometer beeped when it was ready. "Thirty-seven point six," Sören said, and gave a deep sigh of relief. That was still _slightly_ feverish, but it wasn't anywhere near as bad as it was earlier. Nicholas's fever had mostly broken; the worst was over. Now Sören just had to make sure that the cough didn't become pneumonia.  
  
Sören had Nicholas drink some more Gatorade. "I'm going downstairs to have dinner," Sören said. "Do you want some of it?"  
  
"I'm still not hungry," Nicholas said.  
  
"OK. Well, I'll bring you back some broth, because you _do_ need something in your system."  
  
"Yes, Doctor."  
  
Sören chuckled and patted his shoulder. "I'll see you in a little bit."  
  
Sören still felt bad about leaving him to go downstairs, but not as bad as he would have felt if the fever was still high, and Sören reminded himself that even in the hospital, nobody was keeping vigil at anyone's side twenty-four hours a day, this was what shifts were for.  
  
Karen had made beef bourguignon, which smelled heavenly as Sören came downstairs. He found he was famished, and for the first few minutes Karen and Geir let him dig in without interrupting his eating. The silence gave Sören some time to think, which turned out to be more uncomfortable than pleasant. First he thought about the lingering concerns he had about Nicholas, his mind showing him horror scenes of Nicholas struggling to breathe, Nicholas on a ventilator. Then Sören thought about the nightmare he'd had that morning, of burning to death and then, from some dark afterlife place, watching his dark-haired brother-lover die in single combat.  
  
Then he thought about the other dream he'd had... the one when he'd been in bed beside Nicholas, the one Karen had woken him up from. In that dream, Sören had been burning again. Burning and burning. But this time he wasn't dying... he was living. He felt full of power, and as he watched sparks and embers fly off him, he watched them light up something that looked like an intricate weaving of threads - fibers, nerves, like he was performing surgery but with fire, with light, pure energy, instead of surgical tools. In that dream Nicholas had been there, and Sören reached out to him, and saw Nicholas burning, but it was cleansing him, awakening something in him...  
  
...binding Nicholas to him, like a twin, fire joined with fire.  
  
Sören looked into Nicholas's eyes in the dream, eyes that had once been star-blue, the light of diamonds, and now were a rich chocolate brown, the color of fertile earth, grounding the power of there and then to here and now. They were in the fire together, and it felt _holy_ , but not in the sense of any religion known to man, something beyond any religion man could dream of.  
  
Sören had chills as he remembered it now, and Geir noticed him shudder. "You OK?" Geir asked.  
  
Sören nodded. "It's just been a long couple of days." Sören sighed as he took a drink. "It's not over yet."  
  
"How is he?" Karen asked.  
  
"His fever is down," Sören said. "We're not quite out of the woods yet, we have to keep an eye on that cough, but there's at least that."  
  
Karen sighed. "Thank goodness."  
  
Sören noticed Karen looked a little teary, and he put his utensils down and pulled her into a hug.  
  
"I'm sorry," Karen said. "I just... don't want to lose him, you know?"  
  
"We won't," Sören said, his voice almost a growl. The vehemence in his voice, the near _anger_ , surprised him, and even Karen and Geir looked at him funny. Sören cleared his throat, nervous. "I won't let him die." He realized as those words were out of his mouth how stupid that sounded, how utterly daft, as if he had any control over that - after all, he'd lost three patients over the course of his medical career. And then there was his personal life...

“You love him,” Geir said.  
  
Sören's face was on fire now and he looked down into his bowl. "Guilty as charged."  
  
He looked up and saw Karen and Geir were both giving him annoyed looks.  
  
"Well..." Sören took a deep breath. He ran a nervous hand through his curls and rubbed his beard. "I thought about saying it and then I couldn't. My brain melted and it was like... Much as you know. Very shan't. Such rapscallion. Wow."  
  
"You forgot rakehell," Geir said.  
  
"I forgot what now?"  
  
"Oh... you weren't there when we had that..." And then Geir's voice trailed off and he covered his mouth.  
  
"When we had what? What did you have?" Sören felt vaguely annoyed, like he'd missed some important context.  
  
"A conversation," Karen said.  
  
"About..." Sören cocked his head to one side.  
  
"You," Geir said, and shoveled food in his mouth.  
  
Sören's eyebrows went up.  
  
Then Karen pressed him. "You really ought to say something to him. I'm surprised you haven't, under... the circumstances."  
  
Sören sipped his drink, wondering what the conversation about him was about. "So you guys talked about me?"  
  
"We did," Karen said.  
  
"What is a rakehell?"  
  
"You, apparently," Geir said, and laughed.  
  
"It's an old-fashioned term for a man who... gets around," Karen said.  
  
"Oh, so a rake is basically the ancient term for a ho?" Sören asked.  
  
Karen and Geir lost it, and Sören laughed with them until he realized Nicholas had called him that. "I see," he said. "So he thinks I'm a slut. Which I am, but -"  
  
"That wasn't it, exactly," Karen said.  
  
"How did my sex life come up in a conversation with him, anyway?" Sören asked.  
  
Karen and Geir looked at each other. "You really ought to be having this discussion with him yourself," Karen said.  
  
"Well, I might have to get past this... hangup I have about saying something, anyway, because..." Sören decided to just tell them. "When you guys were out, earlier, I crawled in bed with Nick because he was having chills, like... really bad..."  
  
"I saw you guys cuddled up together," Karen said, "but I didn't want to assume -"  
  
"Jæja, nothing happened," Sören said, with a little touch of regret, quickly batting away the delicious thought of what it would be like to make love with Nicholas. And then he felt the need to make an addendum to that statement. "Mostly."  
  
"When you say mostly..." Karen gave him a quizzical look.  
  
Sören sighed. "So, Nick's fever broke, but when he was feverish he was... talking a lot of shit. In French. I couldn't understand him. But when I was laying next to him he finally said something in English. He said, 'I love you, sweetheart.' I'm guessing that was more crazy fever talk -"  
  
" _No,_ " Karen and Geir shouted in unison.  
  
Sören's head snapped back, surprised.  
  
Karen and Geir looked at each other and then Geir gave Karen the "go ahead" gesture. Karen sighed and rubbed her face.  
  
"Sören, when we had that conversation about you..." Karen folded her hands. Sören recognized that posture - Karen was in lawyer mode. Negotiator. Mediator. Sören had seen Anthony make the same pose before when he was about to drop a bomb. "Geir and I were rather hoping you'd have this talk with Nicholas yourself, and hear it from him and not from us, but..."  
  
"We might as well just tell you," Geir said.  
  
"Tell me what?" Sören's heart skipped a beat. His stomach was doing flip-flops now.  
  
"He's in love with you," Karen said.  
  
Sören's jaw dropped.  
  
There was a moment of full silence, and then Sören's breath came rushing back to him. His head spun. He felt like laughing and crying at the same time, and he found himself doing both - relief that Nicholas felt the same way, embarrassment that he didn't see it sooner, shame that he hadn't confessed his own feelings before now - wondering if Nicholas had been struggling with wondering if he was interested or not, just like Sören had been struggling with whether or not Nicholas was interested. And he felt panic, not wanting to come all this way just to lose him...  
  
"Oh my god," Sören sobbed. "I'm an idiot. I'm a fucking idiot."  
  
Karen and Geir came closer to him, hugged him between them, rocked and pet him.  
  
"I'm an idiot," Sören blubbered. "I'm such a fucking idiot -"  
  
Karen sighed and patted him. "Hi Such A Fucking Idiot. I'm Karen."  
  
Sören laughed, and Karen laughed too and hugged him harder.  
  
"You're not an idiot," Karen said. "Mostly."  
  
"Gee, thanks."  
  
"But you will be an idiot if you don't tell him." Karen gave him a stern look. "He needs to know."  
  
"And..." Geir cleared his throat. "We were actually going to take him to the National on Wednesday night, to make him tell you how he felt, and then, of course, as you know..."  
  
" _As you know_ ," Karen said.  
  
"He got sick," Geir said. "He was going to ask you out on a date for Valentine's Day."  
  
Sören sobbed harder. He was touched by that - both by Nicholas's feelings for him, and the romantic gesture, but also by how much Karen and Geir cared about them both, wanting to help.  
  
When dinner was done, Sören tried to offer to do the dishes, but Geir was having none of it. "You go take care of Dad," Geir said.  
  
Sören went upstairs with broth, a banana, and more drinks. Nicholas was sleeping soundly, peacefully, and Sören felt guilty about waking him up, but Nicholas woke before he sat on the bed.  
  
"Hello," Nicholas rasped, voice hoarse.  
  
"Hi." Sören patted him. Nicholas's skin felt like it was back to a normal temperature. "How goes it?"  
  
Nicholas sat up, had a coughing fit, and made a noise. "It goes."  
  
"I have some broth for you, and a banana."  
  
Nicholas drank the broth and ate the banana - Sören desperately tried to not think of how Nicholas would look sucking his cock, face on fire - and then he said, "I hate to trouble you, but I could probably use something more."  
  
"Oh shit, if I knew you were going to be hungry, we would have saved you some beef bourguignon," Sören said, feeling guilty he'd had seconds.  
  
There was leftover pizza from last night, and Sören brought it upstairs, grabbing a towel on the way to Nicholas's room. When he handed Nicholas the pizza, Nicholas just stared at it and Sören frowned. "I'm sorry, that's what there is. I can cook you something else if..." _Even though I'm dead on my feet._  
  
"It's not that." Nicholas gave a sheepish little smile. "May I have a knife and fork, please?"  
  
Sören tried not to laugh as he went back downstairs and came up with utensils for Nicholas. He'd never seen anyone eat pizza with a knife and fork, which he thought was absolutely ridiculous, and he watched with badly contained amusement as Nicholas ate his pizza ever so daintily. _I can't believe I didn't know he was gay._  
  
Nicholas paused to glare at him. "You're laughing at me."  
  
"I am not," Sören said, and then he bit his lower lip. "OK, I am, just a little."  
  
"At least I'm not a heathen barbarian who makes tea in the microwave."  
  
Sören howled. "What a good idea! Let me go nuke you a cuppa -"  
  
" _Shan't._ "  
  
The word boomed out and Sören doubled over. Now Nicholas was laughing a little too, and when they calmed down they just looked at each other for a moment.  
  
Sören thought then about saying something about their mutual feelings, but once again when he opened his mouth, he got shy. That shyness continued as Sören took Nicholas's temperature one last time for the night and plied him with fluids before going down the hall to Karen's bedroom and crawling in beside her.  
  
But Sören couldn't sleep, laying awake still worried about Nicholas, the worry intensifying every time he heard Nicholas coughing. One bout of coughing got loud enough that it woke up Karen, who made a face as she stirred, and then, looking at Sören through sleep-narrowed eyes, she rubbed his shoulder, patted his shoulder, skritched his beard, patted his cheek. "It's OK," Karen said. "I know you need to go to him."  
  
Sören kissed her forehead. " _Takk, elskan._ "  
  
He felt a little bit of guilt about getting out of her bed, even though he knew there would be other nights. He tiptoed down the hall to Geir's bedroom. Nicholas was trying to get back to sleep, but still breathing. Sören went to the bathroom and raided the medicine cabinet, pleased when he found nighttime cold medicine that had a cough suppressant in it and was before the expiration date. He came back to the bedroom with the medicine.  
  
"Nick, sit up and take this."  
  
Nicholas made a face as he downed the medicine that would have made Sören laugh if he didn't feel so bad for how awful it must taste, and how much more awful Nicholas must have been feeling. Nicholas had some water to chase it down and groaned as he lay back down. Sören climbed in bed on the other side of him and pulled Nicholas close.  
  
"I'm here," Sören whispered. "It's gonna be all right."  
  
Nicholas rested his head on Sören. His eyes closed and his breathing slowed, and Sören watched him slip into sleep.  
  
For the first time, Sören kissed Nicholas's brow, and smiled at the little smile curving Nicholas's lips, even as Nicholas continued to sleep on. And then the words came out before Sören could stop himself. "I love you too, _elskan min._ "  
  
With that, Sören closed his eyes and let himself fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you know, Nicholas's fever-speech is Quenya, not French. Sören, who only speaks Icelandic, English, and Danish, would not know this consciously.
> 
>  _Á apsene ni:_ Forgive me.
> 
>  _Vá! Á pusta!:_ No! Stop!
> 
>  _Quistanyes:_ I suppose.
> 
>  _Manan mennel?:_ Why did you leave?
> 
>  _Merin auta. Túlan. Tuluvan. Tullen varien le.:_ I desire to go. I am coming. I will come. I am here to protect you.
> 
>  _Vanesselya palan-síla:_ Your beauty shines far.
> 
>  _Helca ná.:_ It's icy-cold.
> 
>  _Ringa ná. Helce lá mára nin.:_ It's cold. I don't like ice.


	11. Passion

Nicholas woke up and Sören's sweet brown eyes were the first thing he saw, watching him. Seeing Nicholas wake up, Sören smiled, and Nicholas felt himself smile back - and heard his breath hitch; Sören's smile always took his breath away. Then Nicholas winced as he stretched, his body twinging, stiff and aching.  
  
"How are you?" Sören asked.  
  
"Better," Nicholas said as he sat up, grabbing a bottle of water Sören passed him. He took a sip and said, "A little better, anyway. I still feel bloody awful, but not as bad as it was the past..." Nicholas didn't know what day it was. "Few days? I suppose?"  
  
"It's Saturday," Sören said. "The fourteenth."  
  
Nicholas had gone to Karen and Geir's on Wednesday night. Somehow it felt like he'd been here, ill, longer than that, and he was surprised that the worst of it had passed so quickly. _Sören has magical healing abilities,_ came the joking thought, but he wondered if there was some truth to him mending more quickly with Sören around. Not that he was completely better, of course.  
  
Then he realized it was Valentine's Day and he'd woken up with Sören in the same bed, beside him. They were both fully clothed, of course, but there was something about it that felt intimate all the same, and Nicholas once again felt that giddy flutter in his stomach, as well as a pang of guilt. _You need to just tell him how you feel, already._  
  
But first Nicholas needed to go to the bathroom. It wasn't with the same urgency that he'd been going the last couple of days of his illness; it was, indeed, a normal, everyday restroom trip. He did feel kitten-weak as he walked there and back, having to pause and lean against the wall more than once - the flu had taken a lot out of him. His joints hurt more than usual. Most of all, he just felt _disgusting_. In addition to going to the bathroom frequently with the stomach disturbance of his flu, he'd been sweating a lot. He was usually fastidious about hygiene, showering every day, and he liked a hot bubble bath now and again to relax, too. Just a short trip down the hall to the bathroom felt like he was running a triathlon, and he didn't think he was going to be able to stand to shower or even climb in and out of a tub. He hated feeling this powerless, and he hoped this wasn't a taste of what life would be like when he was much older. Once again his conscience nagged him about being in love with a man young enough to be his son - _you don't want to subject him to this._  
  
Nicholas groaned at the ageist rhetoric in his head. _People deserve love at all ages. And I won't know if Sören thinks it's fair or not unless I actually_ ask _him. It's not fair to him to just assume I'm not being fair._ And Nicholas knew sixty-six was not as old as it used to be, and he had every intention of being one of those people who still walked every day and was sharp as nails far into the future when he was of a venerable age. Even if he was not, he still ached for Sören. He _needed_.  
  
Nicholas steeled himself, ready to say something, but when he walked back in the room, those beautiful brown eyes full of concern and kindness and warmth, and Sören's smile, made him feel tongue-tied. He opened his mouth and no sound came out.  
  
Then his stomach made a sound.  
  
"You must be feeling a little better if you're hungry," Sören said. "That's a good sign. I'll go down and see what we can do about breakfast."  
  
Nicholas made a noise at that. Sören put his hand on his hip. "Don't tell me you don't want breakfast," Sören said.  
  
"No, it's not that," Nicholas said. He was surprisingly hungry - famished. He felt a little sheepish as he said, "If it's all the same to you, I'd like to come downstairs and eat breakfast at the table like a normal person, rather than having you wait on me again."  
  
As much as just walking to the bathroom and back had taken a lot out of him, it was a matter of pride. He didn't want to be treated like an invalid, or feel like one. Sören hesitated and then he nodded, and Nicholas followed him out to the stairs. As soon as Nicholas began his descent, he wished he hadn't, arthritis throbbing in his joints, every nerve in his body screaming to go back to bed. But he would not, not yet. He needed something other than laying in bed all the time, like he was waiting to die.  
  
Karen was having tea on the couch - Nicholas was a bit surprised to see her at home on a Saturday morning rather than The Raven's Roost, but then, he wasn't there either, and he imagined she wanted to stay close by out of worry. Karen's mouth opened with surprise as she saw Sören and Nicholas walk into the living room. Tobias had been sitting next to Karen on the couch and he leapt off with a "Prrrp?" and trotted right over to Nicholas, who chuckled and then groaned with discomfort as he stooped to pet his cat.  
  
"Good morning, Tobias," Nicholas said. "I hope you haven't been too much of a bother for Karen and Geir."  
  
"He's been a love," Karen said. "Makes me think about getting a cat of my own, actually."  
  
"Oh, yes, I highly recommend it," Nicholas said. "Having a cat is good for the soul." And then Tobias leapt from the floor onto Nicholas's shoulder, as was sometimes - perhaps too often - his wont, and wrapped himself around the back of Nicholas's neck, laying across both his shoulders, kneading with his claws, purring. "If not my other parts." Nicholas rolled his eyes and groaned again with pain - usually Tobias hopping on him like this was only mildly annoying, but now it made him _hurt_ , and Tobias felt like he was made of lead with every step Nicholas took.  
  
"Are you sure you don't want to go back upstairs to bed?" Sören asked, and pursed his lips. "I honestly don't mind bringing you breakfast in bed -"  
  
" _I mind,_ " Nicholas growled, and then, realizing how angry he sounded, he gave a nervous little laugh and said, more gently, "I've been in bed for the last two days. I really need to be out of bed for at least a little while."  
  
"Oookay." Sören gave him a stern, _this is against medical advice_ look, but he wasn't going to argue. Sören turned to Karen. "What have you got for me to make Grumpy Cat breakfast over here?"  
  
Karen giggled at the pet name, while Nicholas frowned - though he wasn't really annoyed by it, not truly, finding Sören's humor endearing - and then Karen said, "Well, I just made myself some toast. There should still be bread, and I think there's eggs in the fridge..."  
  
"I've had toast for the last two days." Nicholas made a face. And then he realized, again, how that sounded. People were starving in the world, and here he was complaining about having toast again. Something he ordered at The Raven's Roost when there were plenty of more exciting choices on the menu, even.  
  
Sören had that intense, thinking-and-planning look on his face that for some reason Nicholas found incredibly attractive. Sören folded his arms. "Do you have oatmeal, by any chance?"  
  
Karen cocked her head to one side. "Yeah, I think I do. I usually use it to make biscuits -"  
  
"I can replace it. Where is it?"  
  
"Up in the same cupboard where I keep the flour, cooking oil -"  
  
Sören marched into the kitchen and Nicholas watched him take out a canister of oats. Then he rummaged around for pots and pans. Nicholas took a seat on the table - Tobias still purring away on his shoulders - as he watched Sören work in the kitchen, making a big pot of oatmeal. Sören added milk to it. When he put the milk back in the fridge, he let out an, "Ah."  
  
"Ah?" Nicholas was curious, and perhaps a little concerned.  
  
"I see Geir took my suggestion to get some skyr," Sören said, and pulled out a container of what looked like yogurt. "I'm going to steal a couple of these, I can reimburse you -"  
  
"Don't worry about it, Sören," Karen said.  
  
"What..." Nicholas felt even more concerned now. "What is skyr?"  
  
"It's a dairy product," Sören said, "from Iceland. Like yogurt but better. When I was small, my mamma used to make oatmeal for breakfast, we had it with skyr, and I got in the habit of feeding that to my siblings and cousin. I haven't had oatmeal or skyr in a really long time but it's good for when you're sick, builds your strength back up. I should get back in the habit of eating it more."  
  
Nicholas wasn't the biggest fan of yogurt, but he wasn't going to say no to Sören, who was walking around the kitchen like he owned it. Working like his mind was on fire. There was something about it that was very _familiar_ to Nicholas, then Nicholas realized why it felt familiar, his mind's eye replaying a dream he'd had of Sören working in a forge, blacksmithing, the same sort of command of the forge that he had of the kitchen now, the same sort of focused _will._ In his dreams, Sören's creations had been magical, artifacts of power keyed to specific people, and here and now it felt almost like Sören was conducting healing energy into the oatmeal, like a potion. That was absurd, of course, magic wasn't real, and even though he practiced tai chi Nicholas was rather skeptical of pseudoscience like "energy healing", and nonetheless... the burning intensity of Sören staring at the pot, stirring it, made him think of witches and their spells. Or gods and their brews - Bragi's mead of inspiration, Dionysos's wine of divine madness.  
  
Nicholas shivered.  
  
When the oatmeal was ready, Sören added cinnamon and brown sugar to it. He served Nicholas before taking his own seat across the table. Sören had given Nicholas skyr in a small bowl on the side, and Sören was adding his own skyr to his oatmeal, stirring it. Nicholas decided he'd try the skyr separately from the oatmeal before he did that. To his surprise, he liked the skyr. Everything he disliked about commercial yogurt - too runny and thin, too sweet - was absent from the skyr. After a few bites of skyr by itself and oatmeal by itself, Nicholas took a cue from Sören and added half the bowl of skyr to his oatmeal. The oatmeal was already good - for something so simple, Sören had made it delicious - and the skyr made it even better.  
  
"See?" Sören sucked on his spoon, and Nicholas bit back a groan, cock stirring at the sight of those full lips wrapped around the spoon, sliding back and forth slowly in Sören's mouth. "It's good, já?"  
  
"Very," Nicholas said. "Thank you."  
  
Sören beamed at him, pleased that Nicholas liked it, and Nicholas felt himself smiling back, his stomach fluttering at the beauty of Sören's smile, and the way his brown eyes shone. "I made a big pot. So you can have seconds or thirds if you want it, or if not, there's enough to save and reheat for the next day or two."  
  
"I appreciate it."  
  
"So you're feeling a little better?" Karen called from the living room.  
  
Nicholas nodded weakly. Then he had a coughing fit, but it passed. Nicholas had some orange juice and groaned. "A little. Still not a hundred percent, but..."  
  
"You can stay here a few more days till you get your strength back," Karen said.  
  
"I don't want to be a burden..."  
  
"You're not a burden." Karen glared at him from the couch. "You're family."  
  
Sören nodded vehemently. "We want Daddy to feel good." Then Sören quickly added, "Er, better. English, sorry."  
  
But as Sören blushed and looked away, Nicholas wondered if that had truly been a second language error, or if Sören's mind had perhaps been in the gutter. His cock twinged again, wanting attention - Sören's attention.  
  
 _Really. You not only are not sixteen anymore, but you were violently ill for close to three days. This is not the time._  
  
And yet, Nicholas couldn't help watching Sören's ass as Sören got up to take their dishes and rinse them before putting them in the dishwasher. He couldn't help but think about when he'd seen Sören wearing just a towel, or when Sören had been shirtless next to him in bed. That beautiful body. Those pierced nipples...  
  
Nicholas followed Sören back upstairs - Tobias walked up beside him, not trotting for once but keeping Nicholas's pace, continuing to glance at him as if to ask _Are you OK?_ with a concerned look on his face. And Nicholas could see why the cat was concerned. Climbing stairs wasn't his favorite activity since the arthritis started, but by the time he was halfway up the stairs he felt winded, and he felt almost like he was going to fall over at the top of the stairs. He hated being weak like this, especially in front of Sören, but Sören was all gentleness and patience, coming to his side and putting an arm around him, leading him to Geir's room.  
  
"It's OK, Nick," Sören said softly. "I've got you."  
  
 _Yes. Yes you do._ But Nicholas couldn't make words as he opened his mouth. Sören's touch was like a live wire.  
  
Even though Nicholas had protested being stuck in bed, he was grateful for it now as he lay back down. Just that short trip up the stairs was too much. Sören tucked him in and Nicholas watched as Sören got in the chair beside the bed and picked up his tablet.  
  
"What are you drawing?" Nicholas asked, continuing to watch as Sören's stylus glided over the screen.  
  
Sören gave him a stern look. "You getting some damn rest."  
  
Nicholas snorted, and Sören laughed at his own joke, and then Sören reached out and patted him. "Get some sleep, Nick."  
  
"All I have done for days is sleep. I feel as if I am sleeping my entire goddamn life away." And yet he was so tired. He hated being this tired.  
  
"Jæja, a fever and the runs and all of that takes a lot out of a person," Sören said.  
  
And as tired as Nicholas was, he still couldn't get to sleep right away. Every part of him ached, the pain keeping him awake - and the frustration of being in pain like this, being weak like this, keeping him awake. The frustration that he couldn't say anything to Sören, as badly as he wanted to. Sören continued drawing on his tablet and kept glancing over, and finally after a little while Sören saw that he still wasn't asleep yet and Sören made a noise. Before Nicholas could say "don't lecture me," Sören got up and went to his duffel bag. He pulled out Tony the blue stuffed tiger, and his blue bunny Bláberja. He brought them over to Nicholas and tucked them into Nicholas's arms, making him chuckle.  
  
But Sören wasn't done yet. He continued to sit on the bed, rubbing Nicholas's back through the covers. And he began to sing, in a husky, bluesy tenor:  
  
 _There's a lady who's sure  
All that glitters is gold  
And she's buying a stairway to Heaven  
When she gets there she knows  
If the stores are all closed  
With a word she can get what she came for  
Oh oh oh oh and she's buying a stairway to Heaven..._  
  
Nicholas was woken up some time later by Sören's cell phone going off and Sören answering with a "Jæja?" Then Sören put his tablet down on the bedtable and just sat, looking very serious as a male voice spoke on the other end. Sören gave a nervous little chuckle and said, "The worst of the family emergency seems to be over. I think I can come in tomorrow if you need me. I'd rather come in on Monday but I know... yes. Yes, I know. So tomorrow morning, then. OK." The man's voice spoke some more and Sören said, " _Takk._ I appreciate it. See you tomorrow, Ed. Bye."  
  
When Sören got off the phone he explained, "That was my supervisor at work."  
  
"You told him it was a family emergency," Nicholas said, not knowing whether to be flattered or insulted, or a bit of both.  
  
Sören nodded. "Your fever was scary. We didn't know if you were going to end up having to go to the hospital or not. Karen thought about calling your doctor but I just told Ed I needed to go home." Sören shrugged. "I'm still a little worried about that cough -"  
  
As if on cue, Nicholas started coughing again. Then Nicholas made a noise.  
  
"But we'll keep an eye on it. It's probably not going to get bad, though, considering you seem to be on the mend in other ways."  
  
Nicholas nodded. "I feel better but still bloody awful."  
  
"Of course. I'm sorry the phone woke you up."  
  
Nicholas looked at the clock. It was close to four PM; he'd slept all day. "I'm not. Good heavens, have I been sleeping that long?"  
  
"You needed it."  
  
Nicholas now needed to visit the bathroom. Once again, the walk to the bathroom felt endless, the simple task of cleaning himself tried his endurance, and the walk back to the bedroom was slow and painful, with Nicholas having to pause every few paces to lean against the wall and catch his breath. He was coughing again by the time he stepped into the room. Then he made a face - not just at the coughing, but he felt even more disgusting than he had this morning, and the idea of getting back into a bed he'd been sweating in did not appeal to him.  
  
Sören saw him hesitate, and as if he could read minds, he said, "If you wait in the chair, I'll get some fresh linens and make the bed."  
  
"That's appreciated, Sören, but..." Nicholas made a face again. "I stink. I'd just be fouling the fresh sheets." He sighed. "I really need a shower, but it's taking a lot out of me to get to and from the bathroom, never mind trying to stand for long enough to clean myself -"  
  
Sören's eyes widened - Nicholas could practically see the gears turning in Sören's head and then Sören said, "Well, I have an idea."  
  
Nicholas waited for it.  
  
"I could give you a sponge bath," Sören said.  
  
Nicholas felt bashful at the prospect of Sören bathing him, seeing him naked, even as part of him was craving Sören's touch - and part of him felt creepy for being perverted about something innocent and clinical. Sören saw Nicholas's open mouth and Sören said, "Look, I operate on people every day, I see more naked bodies in a week than most people see their entire lives, so please don't feel self-conscious about it. I'm offering because you need to bathe and you can't give yourself a shower right now, so -"  
  
"All right," Nicholas said, and couldn't believe he was agreeing to it.  
  
"Já?"  
  
Nicholas nodded. "You're a doctor. I shall... accept your assistance here."  
  
"OK. Let me get the bed changed and then you can, um, take off your pajamas while I get the basins and washcloths ready, all right?"  
  
Nicholas's heart raced as he watched Sören make up the bed, knowing that within minutes Sören was going to be seeing him naked. Even though Sören swore he had nothing to feel self-conscious about, that Sören saw naked people regularly, Nicholas still felt shy about the man he loved seeing him naked for the first time when he was feeling frail and filthy, wondering what Sören would think of his body, if he'd be repulsed.  
  
But he wasn't going to refuse. He did, from a practical standpoint, need to bathe, and he wasn't well enough to do it himself right now. In a few days yes, but right now, no. And he certainly wasn't going to ask Karen or Geir to do it.  
  
When the bed had new, clean, crisp linens on it, Sören went down the hall to the bathroom. Nicholas's heart pounded even harder, his hands shaking, head spinning as he undid the buttons of his black silk pajama top - and this time not from illness. His mouth went dry as he pulled off the top, and then peeled down the bottoms. He thought about covering himself for modesty's sake with a sheet, but the sheet was fresh and his body was not. So Nicholas just lay on the towels Sören had spread out on the bed and waited.  
  
Sören came in with the first basin full of soapy water, his attention focused on not spilling it, and then he went out and came back with the basin of clear water. Then he had a basin for shampoo.  
  
"OK," Sören said, and he looked over at Nicholas and then back at the basins, and Nicholas could tell he was trying to keep professional but he still saw the color in Sören's cheeks anyway. "Let's do this."  
  
Sören started off by washing Nicholas's face, and then he shampooed Nicholas's hair and beard. Just the washing of his face and his hair and beard was soothing, even as Nicholas still felt nervous about being in Sören's presence. Sören's touch was tender, comforting - especially as he rubbed and massaged Nicholas's scalp, melting some of the tension out of his body, Nicholas flexing his toes involuntarily.  
  
Then Sören washed Nicholas's left arm and shoulder, and underarm, and then his right arm and shoulder, and underarm. When Sören began to wash Nicholas's chest, Nicholas heard Sören's breath hitch, and Nicholas tried not to moan as the washcloth rubbed his nipples, teased them into hard, sensitive peaks, his cock throbbing in response. But then he did worse than moan, as his cock rose to the touch. Sören looked down for just a few seconds, and now his face was even more pink as he looked back up at Nicholas's eyes. Sören bit his lower lip, continuing to wash him.  
  
The worst was yet to come. Sören washed his stomach - another sensitive place - and his thighs and legs. Then Sören was washing his cock. Nicholas went from being half-hard to fully hard.  
  
"It's normal," Sören assured him. "I know you can't help it."  
  
 _It's you,_ Nicholas wanted to say, but the words eluded him once more.  
  
And then Sören accidentally spilled water on himself, all over his T-shirt and pajama bottoms. "Oh, _shit,_ " Sören said, and got up - Nicholas couldn't help but notice Sören's own pajama bottoms tenting. "Would you look at this. I'm absolutely soaked."  
  
"I'm sorry," Nicholas said, but he wasn't really - Sören looked delicious in a wet T-shirt.  
  
"It's OK. I needed to wash these anyway. But I don't want to be uncomfortable in wet clothes as I work on you, so, uh..." Sören bit his lower lip again. "Do you mind?"  
  
Nicholas tried to refrain from screaming _Yes, please, let me see your lovely naked body._ "It's all right," Nicholas said. "Evens the field a bit." He chuckled.  
  
"I guess it does," Sören said, also laughing, and with that he shucked his clothing.  
  
Sören was also erect, and Nicholas swallowed hard at the sight of it. He wondered what had caused it - if it was just a natural physiological response to being in such close proximity to another body, or if Sören actually was attracted to him.  
  
The thought that Sören might want him, the same way he wanted Sören, made Nicholas's heart race again. He dared not hope, and yet...  
  
Nicholas was also intrigued by the titanium ring in the head of Sören's cock, which had a small round bead in it. He never in his life thought he'd find tattoos and piercings sexy, but Sören's exotic body art just enhanced his beauty, and it took Nicholas's breath away as he stared - trying not to stare, but not able to help it. Nor could he help the way his cock jolted as Sören came closer, hard cock bobbing with each step.  
  
"Turn over, please," Sören said, his voice husky. "I have to do the rest of you."  
  
Nicholas did so reluctantly - he couldn't look at Sören's body if he was on his stomach. But then what happened next made up for it, moments of magic as Sören washed his back and the rubbing, kneading continued to soothe him, relax him... and arouse him all at once. And as Sören washed Nicholas's upper back, Nicholas could feel Sören's hard cock rubbing against his lower back, his thigh.  
  
Then Sören was washing his lower back, continuing to work the tension out of him. And then Sören was washing his ass, and Nicholas felt a mixture of bashfulness - he'd never let anyone touch him there, save a doctor doing a routine prostate exam - and his arousal was on an amplifier now, cock throbbing; he could feel his cock dripping into the towels underneath him and it was all he could do to not moan. His mind raced with thoughts of what it would be like to have Sören inside him - what that ring, and the bead, would feel like. Nicholas shuddered, and now he let out a little moan... and he knew if he could hear it, Sören could hear it.  
  
 _Oh god end me._  
  
Sören started washing Nicholas's back some more, and now his hard cock was rubbing in the crack of Nicholas's ass. "You know," Sören said, "you've got a really nice back."  
  
Nicholas laughed, not knowing how to take the compliment.  
  
"Seriously," Sören said. "I work on spines for a living so if you've seen one back, you've seen them all, but you've... got good definition. Very shapely. Were you into sports when you were younger?"  
  
"I used to swim and run," Nicholas said. "I played rugby in school. I don't really have the sports gene -"  
  
"Well, neither do I, but I... I can tell." Then Sören laughed softly and said, "The rest of you is nice, too."  
  
Nicholas's face burned. "Thank... thank you. You don't need to say that to make an old man feel better -"  
  
"Nick, can I ask you something?"  
  
Nicholas braced himself, wondering if Sören was going to ask about the hard-on coming to life in his hand. "I suppose?"  
  
"Do you... remember anything you said the last couple of days?"  
  
" _Mon Dieu,_ I said things?" Nicholas was mortified, knowing he'd probably been raving, delirious with fever. He knew the dreams he was having was very vivid and intense - he and Sören were exiles, wandering with a horde of people into a wintry wasteland, snow and bitter cold. He'd insisted to come along with Sören, and when Sören made their other brother-lover go back, he'd pleaded for Sören to not push him away too. Sören had been so _angry_ in the dream. And the terrible icy cold had given way to Sören burning, burning, burning...  
  
"OK, so you don't remember. Yeah, you said a lot of things. I'm guessing you had a real doozy of a fever dream, because you were talking a lot of shit in French and I couldn't understand you."  
  
" _Merde._ " Nicholas was glad it wasn't in any language Sören could understand, not wanting to make an already weird and uncomfortable situation moreso... but he was still nonetheless shocked that he'd been hallucinating so strongly he'd been saying things, and not in English.  
  
" _Merde_ is right." Sören laughed. Then he patted Nicholas's shoulder, rubbed it. And then he leaned in and his voice lowered to almost a whisper. "But you said one thing in English. You said, 'I love you, sweetheart.'" He tilted Nicholas's face, made Nicholas look him in the eye. "Is that true?"  
  
Nicholas sighed. The moment of truth was here, no escape. Nor did Nicholas want to. It was time to tell the truth. "May I sit?"  
  
Sören nodded, and rolled off, and Nicholas sat up, all clean and refreshed - that clean, fresh feeling gave him a little more energy, even though he was still worn out and weak. Nicholas looked at Sören sitting there, erect, and he paused for a moment, considering what he was going to say, and how he was going to say it, and then he decided to just forego the flowery language, the poetry, and be plain and simple and direct. He looked into Sören's beautiful brown eyes and he said, simply, "Yes, it's true, Sören. I love you. I'm in love with you."  
  
Sören grabbed Nicholas's face and kissed him hard. Nicholas moaned, cock leaping as their lips parted and their tongues met, playing together for the first time since the kiss at the cafe. Sören's hands slid down Nicholas's chest and back up, walking through the chest hair, and Nicholas shivered at Sören's touch. The kiss deepened, tongues teasing, and Nicholas found himself reaching for Sören's curls, enjoying the silky feel of them around his fingers. Sören stroked Nicholas's face, his beard, and Nicholas thrilled to his touch, cock throbbing, aching for more. He was so tired, but he wanted. _Needed._  
  
The kiss broke and Sören looked into Nicholas's eyes, his own too bright, and Sören said, "I love you too. I want to be with you, if you'll have me."  
  
"Oh darling."  
  
Nicholas felt ready to cry too, with joy and relief, but first he needed to keep feeling Sören, keep tasting him, expressing feeling beyond words. Now Nicholas was the one to initiate the kiss, pulling Sören into a second kiss, starting off sweet and gentle and then building with even more passion and hunger than the first. He shivered at the sound of Sören moaning into the kiss, shivered again at Sören's hands on him. Then their arms were around each other, holding each other tight, rocking together, kissing again and again and again.  
  
They caught their breath, rubbing noses, and Sören gave him a wicked grin as he pushed him back against the pillows. The need in him surged even more strongly as Sören began kissing and licking his neck, his throat. Sören's hands were on his chest again, rubbing the chest hair, fingers and thumbs brushing the nipples. Nicholas groaned, hearing himself panting, gasping for breath as Sören's kisses woke something in him, his neck and throat so deliciously sensitive, every inch of his body sensitized and hungering for Sören's touch, his kiss. Sören seemed to understand, somehow, as one hand continued to rub Nicholas's chest and the other strayed down to wrap around the hard cock, stroking it slowly.  
  
"We should take care of this," Sören husked. His thumb rubbed the frenulum of Nicholas's cock as he kissed the sweet spot where the neck and shoulder met. Nicholas cried out, bucking against him, a shiver through him as his cock leapt in Sören's hand. He moaned at the feel of Sören's hard cock rubbing against his thigh, and his breath hitched as Sören resumed kissing and licking his neck, nibbling on it. "Hmmm?" Sören asked.  
  
Nicholas gave a nervous chuckle. "Well, I want to. But..." Nicholas frowned. "I'm still very exhausted from the flu. I don't think I have enough energy to... ah..." He didn't want to call it _fucking_ , even as he felt like an idiot at what came out of his mouth next. "Put it in you. Right now."  
  
"Oh, I know," Sören said. "My wording was 'take care of this' - meaning you. You just lie back and let me love you."  
  
Nicholas wished he could be an equal participant, wanting to please Sören too, but his body was electrified with sexual need and he felt himself nodding. "All right," he said, and then, he needed to be polite. "Please."  
  
Sören laughed, and his laugh silenced with another deep, hungry kiss just before he dove down.  
  
It was Nicholas's first time being on the receiving end of anything sexual. He was familiar enough with gay male erotica to know what to expect, but it was one thing to read about it or see a picture of it or watch a film and another thing entirely to feel it. It was better than anything Nicholas had ever fantasized, Sören's luscious full lips wrapped around him, and then the wet velvet of his mouth, sucking. Sören sucked slowly at first, his brown eyes locked on Nicholas - it seemed to Nicholas that Sören's eyes almost _burned_ \- watching intently, studying every reaction as if to memorize and replay later. As Sören sucked, his hand rubbed up and down Nicholas's body, playing over his chest, his nipples, his stomach, his thighs, making Nicholas shiver and break out in gooseflesh, tingling, twinging. Nicholas's cock continued to harden in Sören's mouth, the pleasure and tension building and building.  
  
Sören sucked harder, faster, getting into it, rubbing his tongue as he sucked. Nicholas heard himself moaning, not able to help it - nothing had ever felt so good. It was far better than his hand, soft and yet with a tighter grip, suctioning. And the way Sören's tongue played as he sucked drove Nicholas wild, until he was panting, gasping, his entire body quivering, so close to release yet not ever wanting Sören to stop, completely lost in the intense, fevered frenzy where the rest of the world fell away and all that existed was this.  
  
Before he could come like that, Sören pulled the cock out of his mouth and began to lick it... and the sight of Sören licking his cock threatened to set Nicholas off, never mind the way Sören's talented tongue felt, swirling around and around the head, lashing the slit, licking down the shaft and back up. "You've got such a beautiful cock," Sören whispered. "I love how veiny it is... the way it curves up."  
  
Nicholas wanted to thank him, though he felt silly doing so, but he had lost his ability to make words. And then that ability was even more wrecked to pieces as he watched Sören slap the head of the cock against his tongue, watched it make streamers of precum. Sören's licks got slower, more deliberate, lewdly chasing the precum with his tongue. His tongue rubbed faster on the frenulum, so sensitive, and as Nicholas felt that urgent, about-to-come feeling building again, Sören took his tongue away and was back to slow licking at the veins in the shaft, giving him a sultry, knowing look through long lashes.  
  
When the cock was back in Sören's mouth Nicholas found himself grabbing Sören's curls, gently thrusting into Sören's mouth. Sören reached to cup and rub Nicholas's balls, and the other hand had stopped playing over his body - Nicholas watched Sören's shoulder moving and heard Sören moaning with his mouth full, and realized Sören was stroking himself. That made him crazy with lust and he groaned, called out, "Sören."  
  
"Mmmmmmm."  
  
"Oh god, Sören." Nicholas shuddered. "Almost there, love..."  
  
"Mmmmmhmmmm. Mmmmmmmm." Sören took the cock out of his mouth again, lashed the slit with his tongue, down to the frenulum and back up. "Give it to me, Daddy. I want to taste you."  
  
With a naughty look in his eye, Sören put the cock back in his mouth, sucking hard and fast. Sören calling him Daddy sent a thrill through him - it was so wrong and so _sexy_ in its wrongness. Nicholas loved it. He loved Sören, he loved this. He was enjoying every minute of it, wanting to savor the feel of Sören's mouth - the feel of Sören, his beloved, loving him, taking care of him - but he needed release. He couldn't hold back much longer. Especially not when Sören had called him Daddy, so deliciously wicked. Especially not with Sören stroking himself harder, moaning around the cock in his mouth.  
  
He was right there, so close, so close, and then it happened. Nicholas heard himself give a hoarse shout as he climaxed, spending in Sören's mouth. "Mmmmm, _mmmmmm_ ," Sören moaned. Nicholas watched the seed seeping out of the corners of Sören's mouth - so debauched - and he trembled as another shock wave of orgasm bolted through him. Sören swallowed it down, and gave a few last licks, giving Nicholas aftershocks as he continued to throb. Then Sören came up, licking his lips, and he grabbed Nicholas's face and kissed him. Nicholas groaned at the taste of himself on Sören's lips and tongue - salty, a little tart, not unpleasant.  
  
"Thank you," Nicholas whispered.  
  
Sören snuggled into Nicholas's chest, rubbing his nose in Nicholas's chest hair, and he felt Sören's arm and shoulder moving. He realized Sören hadn't spent yet. He pet Sören's curls, rubbed his nose in them, his hand rubbing Sören's back. Sören tilted his face up and they kissed again, and Nicholas found himself reaching for one of Sören's pierced nipples, playing with it, before pinching it, then tugging on the ring. Sören howled into the kiss and shuddered violently, and Nicholas felt something hot and wet shoot over his stomach and thigh. He looked down and saw the sight of Sören's cock spurting, a flood of thick cream. Nicholas groaned, wishing he weren't too sick, too tired, too spent, finding the sight of Sören's shooting cock indescribably erotic. And then Sören collected some of the cream on his fingers and stuck them in Nicholas's mouth to taste. Salty sweet, slightly smoky and spicy. It was delicious, and Nicholas savored it, continuing to suck on Sören's fingers for a moment.  
  
"You taste good, sweetheart." Nicholas kissed Sören's brow. "I hope to return the favor when I'm a bit better."  
  
"Me too," Sören chuckled.  
  
"Well..." Nicholas sighed. "I hope I'd be good at it enough to... satisfy you." He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a bit embarrassed. When he opened his eyes he saw the concern and curiosity on Sören's face and he explained, "I'm still a virgin."  
  
He didn't know how Sören would react to finding out a man his age was still a virgin - he hoped Sören wouldn't think less of him - and then Sören just nodded, patted him, and said, "Hi Still A Virgin. I'm Sören."  
  
Nicholas groaned - as much from relief, as from Sören's ridiculousness, which he was secretly fond of. "I walked into that, didn't I."  
  
"Yes."  
  
They kissed, and Sören laughed into the kiss, and Nicholas swatted his ass. "Ooh, _Daddy,_ " Sören said, wiggling his ass against Nicholas's hand as Nicholas rubbed the ass cheek he'd just hit, and then Sören bit his lower lip. "Er... is it OK if I still call you Daddy?"  
  
"I'd like that," Nicholas said, hearing the emotion husking his voice. He felt protective of the sensitive, vulnerable boy in his arms, wanted to take care of him. "You're still Daddy's special boy."  
  
Sören rubbed his nose in Nicholas's beard and kissed his cheek. Then Sören sighed. "I love you."  
  
"I love you."  
  
"But..." Sören sat up, looking very serious all of a sudden. "We have to have a little talk, before we go further."  
  
"All... all right." Nicholas tried to not worry, but he was at least slightly worried.  
  
Sören took a deep breath. "So I'm going to tell you the same thing I told Karen and Geir - I'm not monogamous. I want to be with you, I want to do this, but I'm not going to stop seeing Karen and Geir."  
  
"I wouldn't expect you to." Nicholas nodded. "I... had a bit of a talk with them myself, about my feelings for you."  
  
"They told me," Sören said. "When I mentioned what you said when you were feverish, they told me it wasn't crazy fever talk. But I still wanted to ask you to make absolutely sure." Then Sören grinned and said, "And I thought it would be a good lead in to..."  
  
Nicholas raised an eyebrow, suddenly putting two and two together. "Sören... you didn't accidentally spill that water on yourself, did you?"  
  
Sören threw his head back and laughed - Nicholas loved that full-bodied laugh, lighting up the entire world. "No, that wasn't an accident."  
  
Nicholas facepalmed, shaking with laughter of his own. "You were trying to seduce me?"  
  
Sören snickered. "It worked, didn't it?" He attempted a wink and failed - it was a clumsy blink, and looked utterly ludicrous. And yet, the ridiculousness somehow made Sören even sexier.  
  
Nicholas's sides hurt. His face hurt. "Dammit, Sören..." He reached for Sören, pulled him down, kissed him, and swatted his ass again.  
  
Then Sören lay there in his arms, snuggled against his chest. Tobias hopped up on the bed and came towards them, purring, and flopped down beside them. For a few minutes they just rested there and Nicholas said, "So, you wanted to talk. Is there anything else?"  
  
"Yeah." Sören nodded. "While I'm not seeing anyone else right now, I'm not ruling out the possibility that there might be someone else I'd want to hook up with, in the future. I just..." Sören sighed. "I need to know you'll be OK with that. I'm serious about wanting a relationship with you. I'm serious about wanting a _serious_ relationship with you. And I will always be honest with you and tell you before I do something with someone new. I will also listen to your concerns, if you need more of my time than what I'm giving, or there's someone you're not comfortable with me shagging. But after my past history, I don't think it's healthy or realistic to say 'I'm going to be with this person and only this person, forever and ever'."  
  
"I can't promise I would never get jealous," Nicholas admitted, "because I'm human. But I already knew you had an open relationship with Karen and Geir, and I don't want to take them away from you, nor you from them. As far as other people... so long as you're honest with me and make time for me, I think we shall manage."  
  
"Good." Sören kissed the tip of his nose. "And that applies to you, too. If you want to bang other people -"  
  
"Good _heavens_ , Sören, I don't... _bang_ people." Nicholas tutted.  
  
Sören giggled. "OK. Well, if you want to have sex with other people -"  
  
"I don't," Nicholas said honestly.  
  
"If that changes. Because you never know."  
  
Nicholas didn't think that would ever change - he'd spent sixty-six years going without, and Sören Sigurðsson was the first person to get him in bed. But for the sake of not arguing with him, Nicholas simply nodded.  
  
"Good." Sören kissed his cheek. "This is the start to something beautiful, Nick."  
  
"You are something beautiful," Nicholas said, and he kissed the tip of Sören's nose. "And I love you, very much." Then he yawned. The bliss of orgasm had relaxed him so deeply that his eyes were getting heavy. Tobias's purring got louder and Nicholas idly reached out to pet the cat, feeling cozy and content, thinking to himself _I could get used to this._  
  
Sören rained kisses over his face. "Sleep, _elskan min._ " And a moment later, as Nicholas closed his eyes, Sören tapped him. "By the way?"  
  
"Hmm?" Nicholas opened his eyes, looking into Sören's eyes.  
  
"Happy Valentine's Day." Sören skritched his beard like a cat.  
  
Nicholas felt himself drifting off, a smile on his face.


	12. Fire

Sören went back to work on Sunday morning, though he was reluctant to do so, and came straight from work on Sunday evening to Karen and Geir's flat to have dinner and check on Nicholas. Nicholas was still worn out, and coughing, so Sören didn't attempt anything with him other than cuddling.  
  
Monday and Tuesday passed in a blur, though Sören talked to Karen on his break to catch up with her as well as get updates on Nicholas, who was still not a hundred percent yet. On Wednesday, Sören slept during the day in preparation for the overnight shift. His thoughts were with Nicholas and he felt antsy, wanting to see him again. He was grateful he didn't have to go in until Friday afternoon, and he was going to make it a point to spend time with Nicholas even if all they did was snuggle under blankets.  
  
Thursday afternoon, just as Sören was about to go home, his cell phone rang and it was Karen.  
  
"Perfect timing, I'm getting off," Sören said.  
  
"Are you now."  
  
Sören cackled. "You're almost as bad as I am, _elskan._ "  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"How are you?" Sören missed Karen, too, and felt a pang of guilt now that his time was going to be spread even more thin across three partners.  
  
"I'm doing well."  
  
"You haven't gotten sick yet, no?"  
  
"No. Just sick of work." Karen laughed. "It's not that bad, but you know, sometimes customers at the gift shop..."  
  
"Argh, yeah, I hear that. I worked retail part-time when I was at university. Everyone says Icelanders are so nice. That's only true if you don't work bloody retail."  
  
"I never knew that about you! That explains why you're always courteous to service people and tip well."  
  
"I try. Speaking of tip well..." Sören looked at the clock. "Do you want me to stop by the gift shop, give you a hug and a snog?"  
  
"Sören, I'd normally say yes, but... Nicholas wants to go home today."  
  
"Oh, does he?" Sören's heart started beating faster at the mere mention of his name, his mind replaying the blowjob he gave Nicholas on Saturday... how much he enjoyed giving it. Sören's cock stirred in his scrubs. _Down boy. We're still at the hospital._ "Is he well enough to go home?"  
  
"He's not a hundred percent yet, but he is coughing less, he has an appetite again, and he's getting around easier. He took a shower by himself yesterday. But I wanted to talk to you first before I tell him it's OK to go back home, get a second opinion."  
  
"My professional opinion is that if he can take a shower by himself today, you can send him home. Actually..." Sören's mind raced, coming up with a plan for the evening, aching to see Nicholas again. "You're getting off work in an hour, já?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"OK. If you don't mind, I'd like to spend time with him tonight."  
  
"I don't mind." Karen paused. "He told me you two had a talk."  
  
"We... had a talk, yes." _And I used my mouth for other things._ "So I kind of want a date with him tonight, if that makes sense."  
  
"It does. And like I said, I don't mind. I'm relieved, actually. It's about time the two of you pulled your heads out of your arses -"  
  
"Jæja, I love you too."  
  
They laughed together and Sören went on, "Anyway, the reason why I asked when you're getting off work is because if you can get him to take one last shower at your place, while you're there just to make sure he doesn't fall or anything, then you can send him home and that buys me some time to... welcome him home properly. I have a key to his place. And... don't tell him I'm doing this. I want it to be a surprise."  
  
"Oh, my. Yes, I think I can do that. So he'd be going back to his place in a little less than two hours..."  
  
"That's enough time." It wasn't as much time as Sören would have liked to really do things right, he would have to cut some corners, but he also knew Nicholas was feeling restless and it was better to make him wait a little while but go home sooner, rather than tell him to wait longer and have him get frustrated and just go back home immediately. "Thank you, _elskan._ "  
  
"You're welcome. And... thank you, Sören."  
  
"For?"  
  
"For making him happy. Dad is very dear to us and I'm glad he's with someone as sweet as you."  
  
Sören beamed. "I'm going to try to make him happy."  
  
"Hi Going To Try To Make Him Happy -"  
  
Sören blew a raspberry into the phone, and Karen blew one back.  
  
"OK, I have to get back to work before someone says I'm slacking off," Karen said. "I love you."  
  
"I love you too."  
  
Instead of taking his usual route back to his flat, Sören went in the opposite direction, to the nearest supermarket. He felt a little guilty about buying roses from the floral section of the supermarket rather than a proper florist - two bouquets - but he could only do so much in two hours. He also felt guilty about going to the prepared foods section of the supermarket and getting a fondue package to cook rather than making it from scratch himself, and he hoped Nicholas wouldn't mind. He also picked up stuffed mushrooms and pieces of grilled chicken to heat up, and a loaf of crusty French bread for the fondue. His last selection was a small bottle of olive oil, a small bottle of vanilla extract, and a tube of lubricant.  
  
Sören took a cab to Nicholas's flat instead of walking, to conserve his energy after having worked all night. He swallowed hard as he looked up at the brick building, knowing he was either going to have to take a very long flight of stairs to the top floor or he was going to have to brave the lift. He was tired enough that the lift won out. He made himself take deep breaths, but terror still gripped him on the ride up and he felt himself shaking, fought the urge to scream. His mind desperately conjured the memory of Nicholas holding him in the lift, those strong arms around him, keeping him safe. That deep, rich voice soothing him, _Daddy's here._  
  
The ride in the lift felt like eternity, even though it was just a couple of minutes. Even the mental image of Nicholas holding him was starting to not be enough to help as the seconds wore on and the enclosure felt smaller and smaller, tighter and tighter. _Be brave for Daddy,_ Sören told himself, clenching his fists. _Be brave for Daddy..._  
  
The lift chimed, the doors opened, and Sören ducked out as quickly as he could, leaning against the wall and hyperventilating. Hot tears of shame stung his eyes - he hated that the elevator made him react like that, he hated that _powerless_ feeling. But it was done now, and he was here and he had work to do.  
  
Sören reached for his keyring and found the key to Nicholas's flat. He opened the door and stepped inside. _I'm home,_ Sören thought to himself, and he couldn't help but smile.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Sören was pacing around, muttering "come on, _come on_ " under his breath, listening to the ticking of the grandfather clock, his mind playing all sorts of worst-case scenarios - Nicholas falling in the shower, Nicholas collapsing on the walk from Geir and Karen's to his building, Nicholas taking a turn for the worse with the coughing and needing to go to the hospital after all - and then he heard a "meow" outside the door and the ringing of keys.  
  
"Yes, Tobias, we're almost home. Just a moment more..."  
  
Nicholas opened the door and saw Sören standing there, wearing one of his robes, his hair slightly damp from the shower. Sören gave a shy smile and a wave. "Hi."  
  
"Hello." And then Nicholas took a look around and his jaw dropped.  
  
There was a fire going in the woodstove, and Sören had assembled piles of bedding and pillows in front of it, making a little nest. There was a vase of red roses at the nest... and there was a trail of rose petals leading from the doorstep to the nest the woodstove, and from the nest up the stairs. The lights in the flat were off - Sören had lit LED candles around the kitchen and living room, with a couple of LED candles by the nest.  
  
Sören had the remote control to the stereo on his hand and he turned it on; he'd put in Sade just before Nicholas arrived.  
  
Their eyes met, Nicholas's pupils blown wide. "What's... what's all this?"  
  
"Welcome home, _elskan min._ " Sören walked forward and took Nicholas into his arms.  
  
They kissed hungrily - they had not kissed in days. Sören's hands slid over Nicholas's trenchcoat before undoing it, not breaking the kiss. Then when Sören began to kiss down Nicholas's neck, Nicholas let out a groan, and Tobias howled from inside the cat carrier.  
  
"Oh, dear." Nicholas chuckled. "I had better let him out."  
  
Nicholas set the cat carrier down on the coffee table, opened it, and they watched as Tobias stepped out, cautiously, and began to sniff around. Tobias hopped off the coffee table, continuing to sniff, and then he slurked off, exploring.  
  
"I'll feed the cat," Sören said, heading to the kitchen. "And then I have dinner for us."  
  
"Oh... Sören, that was so thoughtful of you." Nicholas gave him a little smile from across the room, as he continued to take off his trenchcoat, and walked to hang it up. He took off his shoes and then he headed over. "May I help you with anything -"  
  
"You can get changed into something more comfortable and then sit your ass down over there and let me wait on you," Sören said.  
  
Nicholas chuckled. "All right, my sweet."  
  
Sören fed the cat. Before Nicholas had arrived, Sören had seen to throwing out old cat food sitting in the dish from last week when Karen and Geir made Nicholas go with them, and he'd also changed the water in the cat's drinking fountain, thrown out any food in the fridge that had spoiled while Nicholas was at Karen and Geir's, and he'd emptied the litter boxes, before he'd taken a shower himself. After Nicholas went upstairs, he called down, "Thank you for taking care of the catboxes, dear."  
  
"You're welcome."  
  
A few minutes later, Nicholas came back in his usual black silk pajamas. Sören swallowed hard at the silver chest hair peeking out through the V-neck, knowing that soon enough he'd get to see that furry chest again, and this time he'd be taking his time with Nicholas's body the way he wanted to...  
  
It was all Sören could do not to march him over to the nest, shove him down, and ride him right then and there. Sören took a deep breath, forcing his lust under control, and once Nicholas had sat down in front of the woodstove, Sören started with bringing a glass of wine over to him. Sören didn't know what kind of wine went with fondue and chicken, and he certainly didn't want to ruin the surprise for Nicholas by calling him and asking, so he'd just selected a chardonnay from Nicholas's collection. Nicholas swirled the wine around in his glass and inhaled. "Oh, I've missed this," he said.  
  
"I bet," Sören said.  
  
"Not as much as I've missed you, though." Nicholas looked up at him adoringly.  
  
"I've missed you too, _elskan._ " Sören stroked Nicholas's cheek, feeling love so fierce it almost _hurt_ , and then he went back to the kitchen.  
  
He came over with the tray that had the fondue pot, slices of bread, and the chicken and stuffed mushrooms. Nicholas's eyes lit up when he saw it. "Very nice. Did you cook all of this?"  
  
Sören shook his head. "Not after the shift I had, it's from the supermarket, but I hope it's good."  
  
"That was still a lot of trouble to go to." After Sören set the tray down and joined him in the nest, Nicholas reached out and patted him. "Very thoughtful." And then Nicholas leaned in, his cheeks pink, and he gave Sören a shy little kiss.  
  
Sören grabbed him, kissing him back, and Nicholas's shyness gave way to passion, their tongues sliding, swirling, flicking, fluttering, a sensual promise of more to come later. Sören could smell the clean, woodsy scent of Geir's soap, and the natural musk of Nicholas which was intoxicating. Sören's cock leapt under the robe, but he made himself behave... for now.  
  
"Here." Sören dipped a piece of bread in the fondue and put it in Nicholas's mouth. "Tell me what you think."  
  
Nicholas chewed slowly, thoughtfully. He nodded, smiling a little. "That's quite good. I wouldn't have known it was from the supermarket if you hadn't told me."  
  
Sören threw back his head and laughed.  
  
They took turns feeding each other from their fingers like lovers, licking and sucking each other's fingers and thumbs clean. Sören knew this was a big step for Nicholas, the man who ate pizza with a knife and fork, but Nicholas was relaxed now and seemed to be less worried about decorum and more focused on continuing the mood of playful sensuality that Sören had set. Between bites of food they leaned on each other, cuddling together, sipping wine, watching the fire.  
  
When they were close to finishing the meal, the mushrooms and fondue gone, Tobias came over, eyes wide and sad. He sat and gave the most pitiful mew.  
  
"Tobias, you have food in your dish," Nicholas scolded.  
  
"Awww, poor Toby," Sören said.  
  
Tobias came over to play up the sadness, rubbing against Nicholas and Sören, giving headbutts, and they pet him... and Tobias wandered over to the chicken. Just before Nicholas could push him away Tobias made off with a piece, running away with chicken in his mouth like it was a prize. Nicholas shook his head and tutted as he watched Tobias pull the chicken apart a few meters away, and Sören giggled.  
  
"Rapscallion," Nicholas said.  
  
Sören laughed harder; he loved it when Nicholas used old-fashioned words like that.  
  
Then Nicholas cupped Sören's chin in his hand and tilted it up, looking into his eyes. "And _you_ are a rakehell, with this... atmosphere of seduction."  
  
"You're welcome." Sören grinned.  
  
Now Nicholas laughed too. He put an arm around Sören and tousled his curls while he sipped wine. There were three pieces of chicken left and they each had one, with the third split in half. Sören gave his own half to Tobias, while Nicholas facepalmed.  
  
"Don't encourage him to beg," Nicholas said.  
  
"He doesn't need encouragement, he does it anyway."  
  
Tobias ate his chicken and wandered over to the fondue pot to lick the dregs coating the inside. Nicholas groaned.  
  
Tobias came by for more pettings and then he walked off again. Sören pushed the tray aside and stretched out on the bedding, propping himself up on one elbow, trying his best to look sexy. Nicholas gave him a hungry look, and then he shook with silent laughter, eyes twinkling.  
  
"What?" Sören asked.  
  
"You have cheese on your nose."  
  
Sören buried his face in his hands and made noises - that was the opposite of sexy - but before he could reach for the napkins on the tray to wipe it off, Nicholas leaned down and licked the cheese off the tip of Sören's nose, then gave the tip of Sören's nose a soft, sweet little kiss. Just that alone sent fire through Sören, cock rising unmistakably under the robe.  
  
"Oh my." Nicholas's hand slid down to palm the bulge. "What do we have here."  
  
"Let's find out." Sören opened the robe and Nicholas saw he was naked underneath. Sören sat up to take the robe off, and put it beside him. Nicholas eyed the robe and then he reached over and folded it neatly before placing it down again. Sören laughed at this - it was so delightfully _him._ "Don't ever change, Nick."  
  
But Sören's laughter quickly sobered as he saw the way Nicholas was looking at him, taking him all in, eyes intense. Nicholas was breathing harder, and Sören looked down and saw that Nicholas's own pajama bottoms had a hard bulge. A frisson went down Sören's spine, and his breath hitched.  
  
"You're beautiful," Nicholas husked.  
  
"You really think so?" Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip, feeling strangely shy. "You... you don't mind my tattoos and piercings?"  
  
"Actually... on you, I like them." Nicholas traced the flames going up Sören's arm, to his shoulder. "It's adornment. It's art." Nicholas stroked Sören's face, his touch like the flames on his skin, the flames in the hearth. "It's an expression of your heart. Your soul."  
  
Sören took Nicholas's hand and kissed it, tears stinging his eyes. He didn't want to cry and ruin the mood, but his heart was soaring. This was more than he had dreamed of; this was better. "My heart is yours, Nick. My soul is yours." _You are the other half of my soul._  
  
Nicholas leaned closer, grabbed Sören's face, and pulled him up into a kiss. That kiss was like being kissed for the first time, reinventing kissing itself, full of passion and desire and need. Sören could feel the longing in that kiss, the _love_ , longing and love that Sören mirrored back to him, hands roaming over Nicholas's body through the silky pajamas before his trembling fingers began to undo Nicholas's top button by button.  
  
Nicholas gave a nervous little chuckle. "I still can't believe we're doing this."  
  
"Do you want me to stop?"  
  
" _No._ " The word came out forcefully, and Nicholas blinked, as if surprised by his own vehemence. Nicholas coughed and said, "It wasn't a complaint, darling. It was... a hope I dared not dream... and here it is." Nicholas's breath hitched as Sören pulled the pajama top off of him, exposing his bare torso. "Here you are."  
  
"And here _you_ are." Sören's hands ran up and down Nicholas's chest, Sören's cock jolting at the sight of the trim body, the deep pink nipples peeking out through the silver pelt. "God, you're so fucking sexy."  
  
Nicholas's cheeks went pink and his eyes sparkled and crinkled at the corners. "You're too kind."  
  
"No, listen, Nick..." Sören put Nicholas's hand on his hard cock. "This doesn't lie. I. Fucking. Want you." Sören's fingers played through the chest hair, and Sören shivered at the feel of it... wanting to feel it against his own chest, wanting Nicholas on him, skin to skin, the silver fur rubbing all over his body. But in the meantime he could look at it, touch it, and he savored it, the delicious _maleness_ of him. "Fuck. Jesus, you get me hot."  
  
Nicholas stroked Sören's cock, slowly. Nicholas's free hand caressed Sören's own chest, lingered on the pierced nipples, playing with them. Sören moaned. "Lovely," Nicholas whispered. Then he put his hand on Sören's heart. "Especially here."  
  
"Oh, Nick..."  
  
"I..." Nicholas took his hand off Sören's cock and chest and sat up a little, pulling Sören into his arms. "I want to thank you for all of this, welcoming me home this way. It was a wonderful surprise."  
  
"Well, you're welcome." Sören bit his lip, pleased that Nicholas was pleased. "And dinner was OK?"  
  
"It was better than OK, sweetheart." Nicholas stroked Sören's cheek, and Sören savored his touch... the tenderness in it, the love he could feel. Sören reached up to cover Nicholas's hand with his. "I'm touched that you went to the trouble, coming here from work and tidying up, setting all of this up..." Nicholas gestured to the rose petals on the floor and the nest. Then Nicholas cocked his head to one side. "Oh, love, how did you fare in the lift?"  
  
"I had a panic attack," Sören admitted. "But I made myself do it because I wanted things to be nice for you."  
  
"Sweetheart." Nicholas pulled Sören closer and Sören snuggled into his chest, rubbing his nose in the chest hair, soothing and arousing all at once. Then he looked into Sören's eyes and smiled. "Daddy's brave boy."  
  
Sören's heart skipped a beat. He felt like crying and turning cartwheels all at once, deeply touched and yet also elated by those words of pride. He also felt a frisson through him, cock throbbing - he loved the hot wrongness of calling the older man Daddy, and there was something about the age difference, Nicholas being old enough to be his father, that hit him on a visceral level, reached a _need_ he didn't even know he had. For the first time in his life, he had a father figure. Sören had felt safe with Anthony until that very last day, but the safety Sören felt with Nicholas was even deeper, stronger. It wasn't quite getting back the family that Sören had lost as a child, but nonetheless, it was balm for a wound that had been hurting for a very long time.  
  
"Daddy," Sören whispered. "Pabbi."  
  
Nicholas held him tight, kissed the top of Sören's head. "Such a brave boy, going in the lift. Such a good, sweet boy. You know, you didn't _have_ to do that for me, I don't want you to force yourself to do things that make you feel scared or uncomfortable to try to make me happy -"  
  
"But Daddy," Sören protested, "I wanted your first time to be special."  
  
"You..." Nicholas blinked.  
  
"If you want to. I mean, we don't _have_ to have sex, we can just cuddle, I don't want you to feel forced or pressured into anything, but if you want to make love, I -"  
  
" _ **YES**_ ," Nicholas roared, and Tobias let out a screech from somewhere in the living room, then Nicholas clapped his hand over his mouth and made a little high-pitched noise, realizing how loud his consent had been.  
  
Sören fell over, laughing so hard he doubled over, wheezing, tearing up.  
  
"Wow, Nick. There's enthusiastic consent and then there's whatever the hell _that_ was," Sören choked out, tears rolling down his face, which hurt. It felt so good to laugh until he cried, like this. It had been too long.  
  
Nicholas shook with silent laughter that soon became less silent. Then he helped Sören up and he tried to calm down, and said, "I... I want to make love with you, Sören. More than anything in the world. I've never..." Nicholas sighed. "I hope you don't think less of me."  
  
"Oh, Nick." Now it was Sören's turn to stroke Nicholas's face, pet his whiskers, and Sören felt a pang of sadness that Nicholas would worry about being judged for it. "I don't think less of you at all, _elskan_. Though I am _very_ curious how a gorgeous man like you has remained a virgin all this time."  
  
"Well, as you know, I was a priest," Nicholas said, "and even after I left the Church, I had a lot of hangups about sex. Yes, even coming from a French family - my parents were deeply religious. Mercifully, my aunt and uncle, the ones I used to spend summers with in France, were not, and I got to see what 'normal people' looked like. But it took me a _long_ time to deprogram myself from the notion that homosexuality is a sin, and then there was the AIDS crisis, and..." Nicholas shook his head. "It wasn't a safe time to be out until the last decade or so. By the time I tried to start dating other men, I never got farther than one date or two... I found I was too set in my ways and I suppose you could call my personality an acquired taste."  
  
"I liked tasting you," Sören husked, remembering the blowjob on Saturday. He ran his hands over Nicholas's chest again. "I want more."  
  
They kissed, and their lips lingered, then Nicholas traced Sören's lips with his thumb, traced along his jaw, rubbed the beard. "I want to taste you too, Sören. I've been thinking about it a lot since Saturday." Nicholas leaned in to kiss him again, sending more fire through Sören's body; Sören's cock and hole were both twinging now, wanting relief. "I want to do everything with you, eventually."  
  
"Well..." Sören reached over to a bowl he'd tucked behind the vase of roses near the hearth, and Nicholas's eyes widened at the contents. "I got lube in case you want to..."  
  
Nicholas chuckled. "I... want to. Very much. Yes."  
  
"Do you want top or bottom?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
Sören threw his head back, his laughter ringing out. Sören patted him. "I think for your first time it would probably be easier for you to top. We can work your way up to bottoming, if you still want to try that. Doesn't have to be tonight -"  
  
"I think I probably only have it in me for one round this evening, Sören."  
  
"That's OK, I kind of assumed that." Sören felt a little touch of wistful nostalgia for when he and Anthony were together and they could easily go for two, three, four, five rounds, making sweaty, hungry, passionate love for hours, insatiable for each other. But it wasn't a dealbreaker - Sören knew that an older man would likely only be capable of one or two rounds in a night, and he loved Nicholas enough that wasn't a problem, really; he would just take his time and make it count.  
  
Nicholas nodded. "That doesn't mean you only have to have one release, but I myself..."  
  
Sören gave him a little kiss. "Besides the lube I have oil, because I want you to be very, very relaxed. We both need to relax, really. So I'm going to get the oil ready, and you can do me a favor and get those pants off..."  
  
Nicholas blushed, and smiled. He stood up - wincing a little; Sören heard his knees crack - and then he just dropped his pants, freeing his erection. Sören sighed at the sight of it, his own cock leaping again, excited. It was magnificent, long and thick, uncut, prominent veins, a prominent frenulum, the cock slightly upcurved, with balls flushed pink, tight and lightly furred. Sören loved the salt-and-pepper bush, the silver fur on Nicholas's thighs and calves. _God, I want to lick him all over._ Which was exactly what he planned on doing.  
  
Sören heated up a bowl of olive oil in the microwave, and added vanilla extract once it was ready, stirring it before he brought it over to the nest. "Stretch out on your stomach," Sören told him. Even though it meant not seeing the hairy chest and the luscious cock, Sören was on a mission.  
  
Nicholas did as he was told, propping his head and arms up on pillows. Sören poured some of the oil from the bowl over Nicholas's back, and Nicholas gasped.  
  
"Too warm?" Sören asked.  
  
"Almost too warm, but not unpleasant."  
  
"It'll feel much better in a moment, I promise." Sören put the bowl down and began sliding his hands up and down Nicholas's back, working the oil over him.  
  
Then it was time for the magic to begin. Sören kneaded Nicholas's shoulders, and rubbed in circles, circles, then up and down, back and forth, before kneading again, pressing in more firmly. Nicholas groaned and sighed, and Sören watched him flex his fingers, felt him flex his legs. Sören smiled. "That's right," Sören husked. "Just relax. Let me take good care of you, Daddy."  
  
"You're such a good boy, Sören."  
  
The phrase _good boy_ went straight to Sören's cock, which leapt and twinged; Sören watched a bead of precum roll down the shaft. It was a kink Sören didn't know he had, just like Nicholas playing "daddy" helped soothe an aching wound he didn't even know was there. Sören's eyes misted with tears, and in his mind's eye he saw the other-self of his dreams and his dark-haired, blue-eyed brother-lover - the spitting image of their father, but his brother was emotionally available where their father was not, and was other-Sören's "daddy" even though he was younger. Taking care of other-Sören, going to him when he was hiding in the forge, making sure he ate, bathed, slept. Comforting him with his touch, his kiss... his cock.  
  
Sören's faith in those dreams had been shattered when Anthony cheated on him, when Anthony broke their life, and he didn't want to hope that they were real somehow - even as it made no sense for them to be real, Sören didn't believe in gods, afterlives, past lives. He didn't want to hope that his other-brother was really here and right in front of him. And yet, his heart was singing, his entire body was singing, his hands tingling and warm from more than just the oil and the nearby fire in the woodstove as they continued to knead at Nicholas's flesh, moving down his back.  
  
Sören's hands rubbed and rubbed, feeling the knots in Nicholas's muscles melt away bit by bit. Sören's cock continued to stiffen, aching for relief, already so turned on by the simple act of touching Nicholas's body, looking at the definition in his back, the firm, tight ass... hearing every moan, every sigh, every little catch of breath. Sören was so ready and they had only just begun. But that was OK. Sören wanted to savor each moment, burn the memory in his mind of Nicholas's first time - a tremendous amount of love and trust, Sören knew, to give himself this way.  
  
As Sören rubbed he began to also rub his hard cock against Nicholas's lower back and hip and thigh, and at last in the crack of Nicholas's ass, wanting Nicholas to feel how much he was aroused... how much he wanted. "You're so, so fucking sexy," Sören whispered, grinding against Nicholas's ass, kissing the back of Nicholas's neck, his shoulder, cock throbbing with each moan. "God, doing this to you is making me crazy."  
  
"Sören." Nicholas shivered, and let out a more urgent moan as Sören licked his neck, nibbled on it. "Oh, darling..."  
  
"Good?"  
  
Nicholas groaned and nodded. "So very good. Your touch is incredible."  
  
"Mmmm, just wait." With that, Sören nibbled on the place where the neck and shoulder met - both he and Anthony were exquisitely sensitive there, and it was a magic spot for Nicholas as well, giving a little cry and then a deep moan as Sören licked it, kissed it.  
  
Sören's kisses trailed lower, kissing over Nicholas's shoulders and upper back, caressing now rather than kneading. Licking. Sören slid down and kissed and licked the middle of Nicholas's back, then lower. Kissed and nibbled on the firm globes of Nicholas's ass, kissed, licked, and nibbled the backs of his thighs, reveling in the way Nicholas panted, gasped, fisted the pillows, writhing. Though Nicholas was freshly clean from the shower and smelled good, Sören decided to wait to rim him another time, not wanting to spring that on him their first time in case it would weird him out. Instead, Sören kissed his way back up Nicholas's back, all the way up to the shoulders. He kissed and licked the middle of his upper back, smiling to himself at the way Nicholas quivered, hearing Nicholas's breath hitch, the soft moans. Then Sören began to kiss and lick his way down Nicholas's spine, fingers walking, brushing in the wake of his lips and tongue. Nicholas howled into the pillows, trembling, almost sobbing. Sören enjoyed the vanilla flavor of the oil and the natural musk of Nicholas's skin, licking and licking. Nicholas writhed again, gasping for breath.  
  
"Sören..."  
  
"Hmmm?"  
  
" _God_ , Sören." Nicholas chuckled, then moaned. "So good..."  
  
"Mmmmmmmm." Sören resumed kissing, licking, all the way down Nicholas's spine... and then back up again. Slow, sweet, sensual. "Told you I wanted to make your first time special."  
  
Nicholas could only moan in response.  
  
When Sören was at the top of Nicholas's spine, he patted Nicholas's shoulder. "Turn over," he said.  
  
Nicholas rolled onto his back and looked up at Sören adoringly, trust in his eyes. Sören smiled at him, wanting him to see the same adoration and trust, and stroked Nicholas's cheek for a moment before planting a kiss on his brow, and retrieving the bowl of oil again, kept warm by the fire.  
  
Sören poured the oil over Nicholas's chest and then his hands worked it over Nicholas's torso, hips, and thighs, before sliding up to Nicholas's chest. Sören rubbed the front of Nicholas's shoulders, then took one arm and rubbed the biceps, triceps, forearm, wrist and the joints in Nicholas's hand. Sören loved the feel of the silver hair on Nicholas's arm, and he shivered as he thought about how his tongue would be there soon. Sören gave Nicholas's arm the same treatment, rubbing, kneading, soothing the tension. Then Sören rubbed Nicholas's chest, again savoring the feel of the chest hair beneath his hands. He paid special attention to Nicholas's nipples, fingers and thumbs brushing them, plucking, rolling. Nicholas groaned, arching to him, cock twitching. Sören licked his lips at the sight of precum dripping down Nicholas's shaft, remembering the taste of him on Saturday.  
  
Sören rubbed Nicholas's stomach in sensual circles, and then he kneaded and caressed one thigh, down the calf, and up the other. Nicholas moaned and panted again as Sören's touch worked out the tension and then just teased, fingers stroking, playing. "So beautiful," Sören whispered. "You've got a great body."  
  
Nicholas smiled. "Oh, love."  
  
"Seriously." Sören rubbed his hard cock against Nicholas's thigh, and leaned in to kiss him. "You're fucking delicious."  
  
With that, Sören began to kiss and lick Nicholas's neck, his throat, down to the collarbone. He kissed and licked all over one arm, enjoying the feel of the hair on his tongue. He lifted up the arm, rubbed his nose in the underarm hair, breathing in the clean masculine musk of him, and licked him there too. Then he did the same to the other arm, kissing, licking, loving the other underarm. He kissed his way back to Nicholas's neck, and down over his torso, from his chest over his stomach and back up, but not the nipples, not yet.  
  
When Sören had made the course of Nicholas's torso, he leaned over a nipple and his tongue brushed it, then lashed it, eyes watching Nicholas's reactions as his tongue lapped away. Nicholas gasped, cried out, bucking against him, his cock jolting. Sören's own cock jolted in response, and Sören started grinding against Nicholas's thigh again, wanting Nicholas to feel how much this turned him on, too. His tongue swirled around and around the aerole, then he seized the hard nub between his lips and sucked, pulled on it, before his tongue fluttered in light but fast strokes, brushed in slow but firm strokes, then lashed-lashed-lashed before making another circle around the nipple and suckling it again, harder. Sören kissed his way across the chest to the other nipple, laving it, licking around and around, suckling, fucking it with his tongue, with Nicholas panting, moaning, crying out as he clutched at Sören, looking completely lost in pleasure.  
  
Sören went back and forth between the nipples, teasing and teasing each nipple, suckling harder and harder, at last nibbling on them, tugging with his teeth. As his mouth worked on one he played with the other, fingers rubbing, pulling. "So sexy, Daddy," Sören whispered.  
  
Sören licked at Nicholas's chest hair some more, fingers running through it, loving it. He kissed down to Nicholas's stomach and then began to lick and kiss one hairy inner thigh, then the other. At last Sören paused above the hard cock, breathing in the scent of Nicholas's arousal. He rubbed his nose in the salt-and-pepper bush, and licked that too, making Nicholas groan. Then he brought Nicholas's dripping cock to his lips and just licked it, licking around and around the head, lapping at the slit, lashing the frenulum, licking up and down the shaft in slow, languid strokes, then faster. Nicholas was trembling, panting, moaning "Sören... oh, Sören, darling... such a good boy..." Sören took Nicholas's cock into his mouth and sucked slowly, and Nicholas couldn't make words anymore, just groan.  
  
Before Sören could go too far, he pulled the cock out of his mouth, licked it again, enjoying the taste of the precum, and then he giggled and said, "Your turn, Daddy."  
  
"Oh, yes." Nicholas sat up, looking eager. "Time to pamper my special boy."  
  
Sören smiled - god, he loved that - and he kissed Nicholas's cheek before he lay on his stomach. Sören made a purring noise as he felt the oil pour over his back.  
  
For someone who'd never made love before, Nicholas was learning quickly, taking Sören's massage techniques and giving them right back, lavishing love on Sören's body. Sören thrilled to the feel of Nicholas's hands on him, and sighed at the soreness draining away as Nicholas pressed into Sören's skin, kneading, rolling, stroking. "Do you like that, sweetheart?"  
  
"Yes, Daddy." Sören moaned and flexed his fingers and toes. "That's so nice, Daddy..."  
  
"Good." Nicholas continued kneading Sören's shoulders, and then a few minutes later he began to work on Sören's right arm, massaging up and down and then back up. Just in his arms and hands, Sören carried a lot of tension around, performing surgery as he did, and feeling Nicholas touch what ached, replacing pain with pleasure, felt incredibly intimate, vulnerable, bringing tears to his eyes. Sören was opening his heart, opening his life again. It wasn't that he hadn't with Karen and Geir, but it was different with Nicholas. It felt like coming home again.  
  
Sören's face gave way to a silly grin as Nicholas worked on the left arm, biceps, triceps, elbow, forearm, wrist, hand, fingers... and Sören felt the hard cock rubbing against his hip and thigh.  
  
Then Nicholas's hands were on his shoulders again, and then his back. Sören made deep, primal guttural noises as Nicholas's hands worked Sören's back like it was dough or clay, transmuting stiff, sore exhaustion into radiant, soft peace. Nicholas kneaded and rolled and rubbed down and down and up and up, making one, two, three rounds on his back, seeming to intuitively understand how much Sören needed this with his job being what it was. And then Sören realized it wasn't just that, but Nicholas was admiring him, when he felt Nicholas's fingers lovingly trace over the flames going up one arm, ocean waves up the other, the fire and water birds on his back. "This is lovely work," Nicholas said softly. "Even lovelier because I know the story behind it. The power behind it. Your survival. Your _courage_ , your willingness to keep fighting, keep trying."  
  
"Oh, Nick." Sören's breath caught, tears burning his eyes again.  
  
Nicholas leaned down, cupped Sören's chin in his hand, and tilted Sören's face so they could kiss, deep and passionate, tongues rubbing together, a promise of their fucking later. Then Nicholas began to kiss down Sören's neck, a path down his shoulder, and Sören's breath caught again as Nicholas's tongue traced the flames on his arm, leaving little kisses here, more lingering kisses there. He kissed and licked his way down the flames, and back up, and then kissed across the back of Sören's neck to the other shoulder, doing the same with the ocean waves, kissing, licking. Then his tongue followed the lines of the phoenixes, tracing over them with slow, deliberate, sensual strokes. Kissing the birds, rubbing his nose against Sören's skin. "So beautiful to me, Sören. My precious, darling boy."  
  
"Nick..."  
  
Nicholas started to kiss down Sören's spine, as Sören had done to him. Sören bucked, ass thrusting out at him. Nicholas chuckled and gave Sören's ass a playful swat, and Sören moaned as he felt Nicholas's cock rubbing against his ass. "Patience, my love," Nicholas whispered as he continued kissing and licking down Sören's spine, making shiver after delicious shiver go through him, Sören's skin breaking out into gooseflesh, nipples hardening, cock twinging. Sören knew his spine was sensitive - Anthony had sure known that, too - and it had been too long. Sören groaned and bucked again, fisting the pillows, white-knuckled, as his cock throbbed, hole twitching, needing.  
  
Sören rolled onto his back and as he stretched out, the look of lust on Nicholas's face took his breath away. Nicholas poured the last of the oil over Sören's chest and stomach, and his hands did a once-over, spreading the oil over Sören's torso up to his shoulders, then sliding down to his thighs. Sören quivered at Nicholas's touch and his breath hitched, knowing there would be more to come.  
  
Nicholas watched Sören with intensity burning in his dark eyes as he rubbed the front of Sören's shoulders, then his chest, then his stomach. Once again, Nicholas's hands were equal parts comfort and arousal, relaxing and electrifying him at the same time. Sören heard himself moan, heard himself breathing harder, cock twinging, dripping precum. Nicholas's hands slid back up from Sören's stomach to his chest, and Nicholas spent a few minutes just playing with Sören's nipples, rubbing them with his thumbs, pinching them, flicking the rings and tugging on them.  
  
Then Nicholas leaned in and gave Sören a shy little smile before he bent his head and his tongue darted to lick a nipple. Sören gasped and shuddered, hands grabbing at Nicholas as the exquisite pleasure shot through him. Nicholas chuckled, seeming to be delighted by Sören's response, and then he began to lick the nipple slowly, slowly, his tongue firm. Sören was panting now, arched to him, aching to be filled and yet never wanting him to stop, it felt so good. Nicholas groaned too, rubbing against him more insistently. Nicholas's tongue swirled around and around the nipple, and then his tongue lashed it faster, and when he suckled Sören heard himself gasp "oh my fucking god, _yes_ ," so close to coming just from that alone... but not quite there yet.  
  
Nicholas continued to lick the nipple, and around it. He pulled on the ring with his teeth, and Sören cried out, then again, louder, as Nicholas suckled again, harder this time. Nicholas's tongue lashed the nipple some more, hard and fast, then took lighter, teasing strokes, before suckling again. Nicholas turned to the other and pleasured it the same way, licking slow and firm, then hard and fast, suckling hard, tugging the ring with his teeth, licking and sucking some more. Sören was a wreck, writhing, panting, whimpering. Nicholas went back and forth between his nipples, playing with one ring as his mouth feasted on the other. "So lovely," Nicholas murmured, taking a moment to look at the glistening, swollen peaks, thumbs brushing them again. "Such a beautiful boy."  
  
"Oh, Daddy..."  
  
Nicholas suckled again, and Sören shuddered, letting out a long whine. "Oh god, Daddy, please." As much as Sören loved the foreplay, he was desperate to get fucked now.  
  
But Nicholas still took his sweet time, building the arousal, not just to pleasure Sören, it seemed, but Nicholas himself was getting more and more worked up, grinding his hard cock against Sören's thigh, groaning as he lapped and suckled, fire in his eyes as he watched Sören's responses. "I love doing this to you," Nicholas husked, thumb rubbing a nipple. "I could do this to you for hours."  
  
"Oh Daddy. Please Daddy, please, I need your cock in me so bad..."  
  
Nicholas laughed softly. "You are like a fine wine, my dear, meant to be savored." With that, he suckled on a nipple again, and Sören let out a howl.  
  
Nicholas teased and teased his nipples until Sören was ready to sob, his cock dripping with precum, his entire body shaking. At last Nicholas relented, and started kissing and licking Sören's stomach, another exquisitely sensitive place, especially close to the hip. Nicholas found out that if he stroked there with his thumb, licked and kissed where the waist and hip connected, especially on Sören's right, Sören would make inhuman noises, cry out things like "Jesus _fuck_ " and "oh god, fucking _shit_ ," going out of his mind with teasing pleasure. Nicholas seemed to love it just as much as Sören did, kissing and licking all over his stomach and going back to that sweet spot again and again, eyes wicked as his lips and tongue and fingers learned how to drive Sören out of his mind.  
  
Sören's thighs were next. Nicholas rubbed and kneaded Sören's thighs and calves - Sören was surprised with how much tension he carried there, too - and then he just caressed them and Sören whimpered, panting, as Nicholas's fingers and palms sent fire and lightning through his veins. Nicholas's mouth was even better, kissing and licking and nibbling Sören's thighs, kissing and licking behind the knee. Sören clutched at Nicholas's head, moaning, completely overwhelmed by sensation and hungry lust. Of all his fantasies about Nicholas, this was even better than anything he could daydream.  
  
Nicholas paused over Sören's cock, gently stroking it in his hand for a moment, watching Sören's face. Then he took a deep breath and, for the first time, wrapped his lips around a cock. Sören groaned as he watched his cock slide into Nicholas's mouth inch by inch. Nicholas tried to get as much of it in as he could, and Sören saw his gag reflex kick in and Nicholas had to take the cock out, looking a little embarrassed.  
  
"It's OK," Sören assured him. "Most of us do that our first time. You'll get used to it after awhile."  
  
But Nicholas was determined. He took Sören's cock back into his mouth again, this time not trying to get it all, focusing on the head and the first couple of inches of the shaft, using his hand to rub the bottom of the shaft. That still felt amazing to Sören, especially as Nicholas found his rhythm and started sucking harder, rubbing his tongue as he sucked, as he'd learned from Sören. Soon Sören was on that edge, so pent up from Nicholas exploring his body - and exploring Nicholas's body - and Nicholas's talented mouth, the enthusiasm he had for pleasing Sören this way. Sören found himself rolling his hips, gently thrusting as Nicholas's mouth clamped around him tighter, moved up and down faster. At last Sören was _right there_ , and he heard himself whimper, "Don't stop, Daddy, don't-stop-don't-stop-don't-stop- _don'tyoufuckingstop_ -"  
  
"Mmmmmmmm," Nicholas encouraged.  
  
Sören let out a long, shuddery breath, ready to shatter. " _Mmmmmm_ ," Nicholas moaned, and their eyes locked.  
  
Sören gave in, screaming out " _Pabbi!_ " as he climaxed. Nicholas made a little noise as Sören filled his mouth, and then made a deeper grunt of satisfaction as he swallowed it down. Nicholas licked him clean until Sören gently pushed him away. "Sensitive," Sören said, laughing.  
  
Nicholas came up to kiss him. "You taste wonderful," Nicholas husked.  
  
"Mmmmm." Sören kissed him back. "You _were_ wonderful. I wouldn't have guessed that was your first time giving head if you hadn't told me and you hadn't gagged at the beginning." Sören kissed him again. "You learn well."  
  
"And I enjoyed myself," Nicholas said, putting Sören's hand on his hard cock. "As you know."  
  
"As you know," Sören said, and giggled. Nicholas laughed too, and they rubbed noses.  
  
They snuggled together for a couple of minutes, with Nicholas letting Sören recharge from his intense orgasm. But the feel of Nicholas's body hair and his hard cock got Sören going soon enough, and Sören found himself kissing Nicholas again and again, one hand playing over Nicholas's body, rubbing the silver man fur, the other hand playing with Nicholas's hard cock. Then they were laying on their sides, their bodies rubbing together, cock rubbing cock, kissing more deeply, hungrily.  
  
On another night Sören would be content to rub cocks to orgasm, as he and Anthony had done before - a shiver went down Sören's spine at the memory of his and Anthony's cocks spurting together, one cock shooting over the other, making a deliciously debauched flood, and Sören thought about what that would look like with Nicholas's cock and he shivered again, hearing himself moan. But he was also craving to be filled - to be one with Nicholas, that first time as advertised.  
  
Sören's hands lingered on Nicholas's body before he grabbed one of the pillows and scooted, repositioning himself with the pillow underneath him, propping up his hips. Then he grabbed the lube out of the bowl and poured it over Nicholas's cock, using both his hands to work it over, licking his lips at the sight of Nicholas's cock glistening. Sören took Nicholas's right hand and poured lube over the index and middle finger, and then he spread his legs and guided Nicholas's hand to his opening.  
  
Nicholas gave Sören a shy little look, took a deep breath, and he slipped the two lubricated fingers into Sören. "You must tell me if I'm hurting -"  
  
"Oh, _FUCK._ " Nicholas's fingers found that spot right away and Sören bucked, letting out a whimper, shuddering. He gasped, feeling his eyes roll.  
  
"That's... that's not uncomfortable?"  
  
" _More._ "  
  
Nicholas groaned - Sören got the idea he rather liked that word. Slowly, Nicholas's fingers worked in and out of him, rubbing the button inside him in circles. Sören whimpered, gasped, panted, made inhuman noises until Nicholas got more confident and his fingers moved harder, faster. Then Sören was rocking his hips, fucking himself on Nicholas's fingers.  
  
"I need you in me," Sören said, wanting Nicholas to see the desperate, urgent pleading on his face. "Now. Please. God. Now."  
  
Nicholas gave a shuddery little sigh - Sören couldn't help smiling at Nicholas's cock leaking a pool of precum, the fire in his dark eyes, like burning coals. Nicholas got between Sören's legs, and exhaled sharply as he began to guide the tip of his cock to Sören's opening. Their eyes held as Nicholas started pushing inside, first the head, then the rest of him. Nicholas gasped at the feel of the tight ring of Sören's passage, and again as he met with less resistance, Sören pushing out as Nicholas went in, slowly. Sören heard his own breath hitch - Nicholas's cock was thicker than Geir's, though Geir was not small by any means, and it was a tight fit, burning a little at first, but then he stretched and Nicholas was deeper, deeper.  
  
When Nicholas was buried to the hilt they were both panting together, shaking, holding onto each other's hands.  
  
"Sören." Nicholas's eyes were too bright, and he smiled at Sören with such love and tenderness that it took Sören's breath away. "We're one flesh."  
  
It brought tears to Sören's eyes too. "One heart," Sören whispered. "One need."  
  
Nicholas leaned down and kissed him fiercely. Sören wrapped his arms and legs around Nicholas, holding the older man with all of him, and Nicholas took his first slow thrust. Nicholas groaned, trembling at the feel of gliding back and forth in Sören's channel. He groaned again as he took another thrust. "You feel so good, love."  
  
And then Nicholas's cock went deeper on the third thrust and Sören cried out at the feel of Nicholas's cock rubbing that sweet spot inside him. "Daddy!"  
  
Nicholas's eyes widened with alarm. "Am I hurting you -"  
  
"Oh fuck no." Sören grabbed Nicholas and pulled him into a kiss. "More."  
  
Nicholas gave a little growl and thrust again. And again. Each time Nicholas's cock connected with that magic place, Sören gasped with pleasure. Nicholas kissed him back and they moaned into the kiss as they found their rhythm, slow and sweet.  
  
Sören could feel Nicholas's cock throbbing inside him, and he'd topped enough times to know Nicholas could feel the silken heat of him, inner muscles rippling around his cock. Sören watched the ecstasy on Nicholas's face, and it intensified his own excitement, lost in lust for the gorgeous man on top of him, in him. Soon Sören was worshiping him, feasting on the sight of his body, his eyes, hands running over him, feeling the silver pelt, the trim body, the strength still in the older man, the power, the maleness. Nicholas's cock felt so good rubbing inside him, pleasing and pleasing, and Sören drowned in sensation, wanting to stay here in this place where all that existed was their passion, their fuck.  
  
"Daddy," Sören moaned. "Oh, god, Daddy, it's so good..."  
  
"Oh, sweetheart." Nicholas was kissing Sören's neck now, kissing the place where his neck and shoulder met. "My darling boy."  
  
"Daddy, fuck me..." Sören's nails dug into Nicholas's back. "Fuck me, Daddy. More. I need it, Daddy..."  
  
"I need you, love." Their eyes met again. "Daddy's special boy."  
  
Sören kissed Nicholas as passionately as he could and began to buck underneath him, hips rocking, urging Nicholas on harder, faster. Nicholas matched Sören's rhythm, and reached between them to take Sören's hard cock in his hand, stroking it in time with his thrusts. The tight fist around his cock and the delicious rubbing inside him built Sören's arousal higher, ever higher and higher, and Sören let out a high-pitched noise into the kiss.  
  
"Yes, Daddy. Yes, Daddy. More, Daddy, more..."  
  
Nicholas groaned, fucking him even harder. "Sören."  
  
"Daddy. Pabbi. Give me that cock, Daddy, fuck me, Daddy, harder!"  
  
Nicholas growled and resumed kissing Sören's neck. Nicholas's free hand was playing with one of Sören's nipples now, and Sören cried out, rocking back at him as hard as he could, pleasure engulfing his entire body. He knew he wouldn't last much longer.  
  
"More, Daddy," Sören panted. "More, Daddy, more, fuck me, Daddy, more!"  
  
"Oh, Sören." Nicholas gave a deep groan. His balls were slapping against Sören now, the sound of it lewd and primal. Sören whimpered and Nicholas growled again, driving into him with abandon, the look of focused passion almost like anger...  
  
... _anger at something that had been taken from him, something he was reclaiming now._ Sören gasped a little at the thought, felt a frisson go through him, awe at the look in Nicholas's eyes, magnificent as he unleashed all the sexual need pent up in him for so long. _Eons._  
  
"Daddy's good boy," Nicholas rasped into Sören's throat. "Such a good boy for Daddy."  
  
"Oh god, Daddy, I'm so close."  
  
"Yes, sweetheart. Daddy wants to make you feel good."  
  
They kissed again, and when they pulled apart, Sören surrendered even more deeply, everything burning away but the pleasure as Nicholas continued to drive into him, balls slapping, looking more and more delicious to Sören as he lost himself, silver-furred body moving, mating, all raw power.  
  
"Daddy. Daddy. _Daddy._ " There it was, the point of no return. Sören quivered and a high-pitched keening rose in him, rushing out into a deep, wild roar. With each pulse of his orgasm, an arc of his seed sprayed over Nicholas's chest hair, then his stomach.  
  
Nicholas watched Sören's cock shooting, and watched the look on Sören's face as he climaxed, and two sharp thrusts later Nicholas gasped and threw his head back, crying out as his own climax overtook him. Sören cried out too, letting out another blast of cum, so completely turned on by the sight and sound of Nicholas losing control, the feel of Nicholas's seed filling him, claiming him.  
  
Nicholas came down and they kissed deeply, hearts racing together. Sören smiled and sighed, toes curling as he throbbed and throbbed, the contractions powerful and seeming to go on forever, melting in bliss. Nicholas smiled too, eyes shining.  
  
"I hope that was everything you hoped it could be," Sören whispered, feeling the love consuming him, almost breaking him, so deeply honored by the gift of having been Nicholas's first.  
  
"It was better." Nicholas stroked Sören's face, kissed his brow, and then gave him a soft, sweet, lingering kiss, before pulling back to smile at him some more. "I love you."  
  
"I love you." They kissed again. "We're good together."  
  
"We belong together." Nicholas took Sören's hand and put it on his heart. "I feel so foolish, having been so afraid to tell you how I feel, when this is so... indescribably right."  
  
"Yes." Sören couldn't stop grinning, his face hurting, tears of joy in his eyes. "Yes."  
  
They lay there for awhile, just holding each other, watching the fire burn in the woodstove. Tobias came over for pettings and curled up next to them, purring. "I could get used to this," Sören heard himself say aloud, and then he froze, hoping that Nicholas wouldn't think things were moving too fast, despite the confession of _we belong together._  
  
But Nicholas just patted him and said, "Me too."  
  
Sören gave him another little kiss. "I hope we'll have many more nights like this."  
  
"We shall," Nicholas said. Then he raised an eyebrow. "What does your schedule look like for the next few days?"  
  
"Not so good," Sören said honestly. "I don't have to go in until tomorrow afternoon but that means I'll be working until the middle of the night, when you'll be in bed. I work all weekend this Saturday and Sunday. I don't have any days off next week, except I do have off next Saturday and Sunday and my weekend starts that Friday night, the twenty-seventh."  
  
Nicholas was quiet for a moment, and for an instant Sören worried that Nicholas would express misgivings about their future with Sören's schedule, but then he just nodded and said, "Would you care to spend next weekend with me, then?" And then Nicholas frowned a little and said, "If it's not going to take time away from Karen and Geir -"  
  
"I'll talk to them about it but I think they'll be OK with it. Let's consider my answer a yes for now."  
  
"Good." Nicholas's arms tightened around Sören, and he kissed Sören's cheek. "Perhaps we could go on a..." Nicholas looked a little bashful, turning pink. "A date, next Friday evening. Out to dinner, perhaps."  
  
"I'd really like that." Sören was surprised by how eager he was, as he remembered the final months of his relationship with Anthony, when he was too tired to go out anywhere. And then after the relationship was over, Sören just stopped going out. He'd had some dates with Karen and Geir, but this was different, somehow.  
  
 _I'm coming back to life again._


	13. Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The verse continues with [_Broken Wings_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24481624/). Thanks for reading!

Nicholas had booked a reservation at Balthazar in Covent Garden for the evening of Friday, February twenty-seventh. He had spoken to Sören on the phone a few times during the week to let him know of those plans and just simply to hear the sound of his voice. Nicholas loved Sören's dark, smoky voice with its lilting, breathy Icelandic accent. And more than that, he loved that feeling of being in Sören's presence, like a living hearth fire, even over the phone.  
  
While Nicholas was initially disappointed that Sören had such a long stretch of work days, aching for another night with him, he was also still recovering from the flu. While he'd gone home from Karen and Geir's flat, he wasn't quite yet a hundred percent, and he needed more days to fully get his strength back. That was also why he didn't go to visit Sören at the National on his breaks, much as he was eager to see him again - Nicholas didn't want to take the risk of spreading any lingering infection at the hospital.  
  
But the continued course of taking it easy and working his way back to normal life a bit at a time paid off, and by Friday, Nicholas was feeling back to his old self. If anything he was feeling a bit hyper, exuberant in a way he had not been in years, counting down the hours and minutes to when Sören would meet him at the restaurant.  
  
Nicholas had to decide what to wear, and Karen and Geir came over to offer their advice. Karen picked out a navy blue suit and matching tie, with a medium blue dress shirt. "Sören likes blue," Karen pointed out. "It's his favorite color."  
  
Nicholas knew that Sören himself wouldn't be wearing a suit, though the one time he had seen Sören in a suit - when they attended the Royal Ballet together - he looked dashing. Nonetheless, Nicholas still wanted to dress to impress, without being overdressed; they were just going out to dinner, so Nicholas would leave the tails at home. He did, however, add the pocketwatch that Sören had so thoughtfully given him for Christmas, hoping Sören would notice he treasured the gift - now even moreso.  
  
When Karen and Geir went back, they hugged him tight. "Thank you again, for being so understanding and generous with giving us this weekend," Nicholas said.  
  
"We're just happy to see you happy," Geir said.  
  
"Well, I shan't monopolize all of his time. If you want some time with him next week..."  
  
"We can discuss that later," Karen said. "But Geir and I know you guys are pretty serious about each other and we want you to be able to foster that."  
  
Geir nodded solemnly.  
  
Nicholas hadn't said anything to that effect, but he certainly felt it, and he wondered if it was that obvious to him that when he looked at Sören Sigurðsson, his heart spoke _he's the one_. And he didn't expect Sören to be his exclusively, but at the same time, he was feeling that urge to nest with him. Settle down. Hoping Sören felt the same way, wouldn't be afraid because he had been burned the last time he'd nested with someone.  
  
That weighed heavily on Nicholas's mind as he headed out to Balthazar. He didn't want a fling, or a "fuckbuddy", he was playing for keeps. It was almost terrifying, how much he loved Sören, how much he _needed._ But he couldn't deny it. He was afraid to risk, but he was also more afraid not to risk. And after all, he'd taken a risk just with telling Sören how he felt, telling Sören he had been a virgin, and they had made it this far.  
  
 _Try not to worry so much and just enjoy the moment,_ Nicholas scolded himself. He closed his eyes and thought of how very soon, he'd be seeing Sören. That radiant smile, those warm brown eyes...  
  
"Hey, _elskan._ " Sören was just getting out of a cab, waving madly.  
  
"Sören. Just in time." Nicholas chuckled. "I was expecting I'd get the table and you'd be there a short while later."  
  
"I erred on the side of being a little early." Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip - Nicholas loved that, his cock stirring in response. "I missed you. I couldn't wait to see you again."  
  
"Oh, love." Nicholas could have shouted for joy. Right now, that was exactly what he wanted to hear.  
  
They paused outside the restaurant and just held each other for a moment. A few snowflakes fluttered around them, and one fell on the tip of Sören's nose. Nicholas leaned in and kissed it, and Sören sighed, stroking Nicholas's cheek, skritching his whiskers. "I love you," Sören whispered.  
  
"I love you." And then Nicholas grabbed Sören and kissed him right there on the street in front of the restaurant, not caring who saw them, who might disapprove. At that moment he wanted the entire world to know _this is he who my soul loveth._  
  
They pulled apart, breathing hard - Sören's cheeks were flushed, his eyes sparkling and a little dangerous, looking at Nicholas like he could eat him alive. For a few seconds Nicholas entertained the idea of saying _to hell with dinner, I want you for dessert_ and dragging Sören back to his flat to make passionate love together, but he did have the reservation and it wasn't fair to cancel it, nor did he feel right about forgoing dinner when Sören had worked long hours today and needed to refuel.  
  
Sören grabbed Nicholas's hand and started pulling him inside the restaurant. "Decaux, table for two," Nicholas announced, and a moment later they were seated in a cozy spot by a window. Nicholas pulled out the chair for Sören, who smiled as he took off his coat and draped it over the back. Nicholas took a moment to look at his partner - he didn't know what he was expecting Sören to wear, really, but Sören looked nice this evening. He was neither too formal nor too casual, wearing what appeared to be a traditional Icelandic wool sweater, a black, blue and grey pattern on a white background, with a jaunty black scarf and black trousers. Sören's cheeks flushed as he noticed Nicholas looking at him.  
  
"You're lovely," Nicholas husked, meaning it.  
  
"You look damn good yourself," Sören said, eyes raking him up and down. "You look sharp in a suit."  
  
"I..." Nicholas swallowed hard, feeling shy but pleased. "I wanted to look nice for you. Actually, Karen and Geir helped me decide what to wear."  
  
"I'll have to thank them later." Sören attempted a wink - it was a clumsy blink instead - and sat down. For a moment they just looked at each other across the table, holding hands on top of the table, and then they got to the business of looking at the menus.  
  
Sören's eyes widened at the selection. Nicholas had been here a few times before, including once with Geir and Karen. To Nicholas's experience with restaurants the menu was neither absurdly priced nor was it cheap, but he also gathered that Sören didn't have a whole lot of experience with places like this. "You can order whatever you like," Nicholas said. "I'd like to pay for you."  
  
"I mean, I can afford it -"  
  
Nicholas waved his hand dismissively. "Please, Sören. Let me spoil you."  
  
Sören chuckled. "All right." Then Sören cocked his head to one side. "I don't know what half this stuff is, and the other half all looks delicious."  
  
Nicholas was not surprised that Sören wouldn't be familiar with the French offerings on the menu, but very likely was interested in the fish dishes. After some more consideration, Sören said, "What are you in the mood for, _elskan?_ "  
  
Nicholas sipped his ice water with a wicked little smile, hoping Sören got the hint.  
  
Sören snorted and kicked him under the table. "Now you're being a... a rakehell."  
  
Nicholas felt his smile getting bigger - he felt like an idiot, but he couldn't help smiling nonetheless. "I shall take that as a compliment coming from you, my sweet."  
  
Nicholas studied the menu for another moment and then he shrugged. "I didn't have my heart set on one course in particular. Is there something you were looking at...?"  
  
"The meals for two," Sören said. "I've never had Beef Wellington, is it good?"  
  
"Exceptionally. Would you like me to order that for us to share?"  
  
"I'd like that."  
  
"Good." Nicholas was pleased, not just because the Beef Wellington was indeed very good, but it felt romantic, getting a meal for two. _I am a sentimental fool._ But he couldn't help how he felt nonetheless.  
  
Nicholas ordered pinot noir to go with the meal, and as they waited, Sören moved his chair closer. Nicholas started to feel bashful again, face on fire, stomach fluttering, heart beating faster. Sören reached for his hands, and leaned in, so they could rub noses.  
  
"Hi, Daddy," Sören whispered.  
  
"Hello, sweetheart." Nicholas felt like he was soaring on the inside, all aglow. To hell with being proper in public, to hell with what anyone thought. He had found his bliss right here, in Sören's sweet brown eyes.  
  
They continued to lean on each other, rubbing noses, holding hands, until their meal was brought over. Sören's eyes widened at the size of the meal for two, and Nicholas chuckled.  
  
Sören wanted to stay close by rather than scooting back over, and that was more than fine with Nicholas. Then Nicholas found himself giving in to an urge he'd had when Sören suggested getting one of the meals they could share, cutting the first piece of the Beef Wellington and bringing the fork to Sören's lips. Sören ate it, and closed his eyes, a look of rapture on his face.  
  
"God, that's good," Sören said.  
  
"I'm glad you like it," Nicholas said.  
  
"Here, my turn." Sören giggled as he cut a piece of it, and the next thing Nicholas knew, he was eating off the fork Sören held out to him.  
  
They cut pieces and fed each other, pausing every now and again to work on the _haricots verts_ that came with the meal. "My boy needs to eat his greens," Nicholas teased, doing "the airplane" with the first forkful of green beans before Sören took a bite, laughing.  
  
Somehow between the two of them they managed to eat the entire thing and they still had a little room for dessert. Nicholas ordered the raspberry and vanilla chantilly profiteroles for himself, and Sören ordered a plate of chocolate truffles and macaroons. Watching Sören indulge his sweet tooth delighted Nicholas, and they even shared a bit of each other's dessert, once again feeding each other and laughing together.  
  
They took a cab back to Nicholas's flat, snuggling in the back seat of the cab. Nicholas very much wanted to kiss Sören, tempted to make out with him right then and there, but he made himself be a gentleman for the last portion of their time in public, tipping the cab driver generously on their way out. He found himself saying aloud as the cab drove away, "I'm so glad we live in an age when I can take a cab ride with my obvious partner and not be afraid."  
  
"Oh, Nick." Sören paused on the curb and his arms wrapped tight around him. "I'm so sorry so much of your life was spent closeted and in fear."  
  
 _And not just here, either._ But Nicholas felt sheepish as the thought came up - he still wasn't fond of the notion of past lives. Nicholas put his arms around Sören in return, rocking him for a moment. "As you know, the battle's not over. LGBT people still face discrimination -"  
  
"But it was far worse even just a decade or two ago, than it is now. And I can't imagine what it was like for you in the 70s and 80s, when you were as old as I am now." Sören shook his head, frowning.  
  
"Well, at least I have you now." Nicholas kissed the tip of Sören's nose. "You were worth the wait, _mon doux chéri garçon_."  
  
Sören blinked, his eyes suddenly too bright. He threw his arms around Nicholas's neck and kissed him passionately, hard enough to take his breath away. Nicholas moaned into the kiss as his cock stirred; the way their tongues played together hinted at the promise of more later. So much more. Nicholas had a bite of that forbidden fruit and now he wanted the entire damn forest, kissing Sören back like his life depended on it, wanting Sören to feel the love and desire with each lash of his tongue.  
  
They were giddy as they ducked inside. Sören's mood sobered as they approached the lift going up, and Nicholas put a reassuring hand on his shoulder while they waited for the lift. Once in the lift, Nicholas took Sören back into his arms and now it was his turn to initiate the kiss, giving Sören a distraction as they rode up. By the time they got to the top floor Sören was panting, and this time it had nothing to do with panic.  
  
As soon as they got in Nicholas's flat, Sören slammed him against the wall, giving him another deep, wild, fierce kiss. Nicholas undid Sören's coat and ran his hands over the woolen sweater, thumbs teasing nipples through the fabric. The kiss broke and Nicholas started kissing Sören's neck and throat, hands still sliding over his body.  
  
Tobias rubbed up against them. "Prr-rowrr?" Then Tobias stood on his hind legs and began to tap Nicholas's knee. "MROWR. MOW. _MOWWWWW._ "  
  
"Oh dear," Nicholas chuckled. "He needs to be fed."  
  
Feeding the cat, and smelling his canned cat food, rather killed the mood - it felt awkward to get right back into kissing after that. Fortunately Sören seemed to understand, taking it in stride, snickering as Nicholas walked towards him with an apologetic shrug.  
  
"Cats," Sören said.  
  
"Indeed."  
  
Sören bit his lower lip. "Should we get changed into something more comfortable?"  
  
"Perhaps so."  
  
Sören visited the restroom and came out in a pair of Nicholas's black silk pajamas. They were slightly too big, Nicholas being five inches taller, but only slightly, and Nicholas liked the way Sören looked in them. Nicholas went and changed in his bedroom after that, while Sören waited on the couch - Nicholas realized Sören wouldn't have minded if he changed in front of him, but Nicholas was still shy about it, even though Sören had seen him naked already. It was going to take some getting used to, being more comfortable with nudity.  
  
Nicholas came downstairs in matching pajamas and Sören laughed. "Pajama twins," Sören said.  
  
Nicholas gave him a little kiss. "Like brothers from another mother."  
  
As soon as it was out of his mouth, Nicholas felt a sharp sting of anxiety, hoping that Sören wouldn't think he was some sort of weird pervert for saying that, being as it sounded somewhat incestuous. For the briefest instant Nicholas saw a shield wall in his mind's eye, as if he were trying to prevent Sören from reading his mind - not that such a thing was even possible - and see the dreams where Sören had been his brother and lover.  
  
But Sören laughed again and patted him. "So, Daddy Bro..."  
  
Nicholas groaned; he hated the word "bro". Sören saw his reaction and laughed harder.  
  
"Do you want to watch a movie, or something?" Sören bit his lower lip again - Nicholas loved it when he did that - and Nicholas watched Sören shift in his seat a little. "Sorry, I'm no good at this dating stuff. Anthony and I just used to chill, a lot of the time." Then Sören cringed. "Er, sorry to bring him up -"  
  
"You're fine," Nicholas said, giving Sören's knee a reassuring rub. Then Nicholas said, "As you know, I'm new to dating myself, so I shan't fault you for that. Watching a film together sounds good to me."  
  
"OK."  
  
"What would you like to watch?"  
  
"Well..." Sören's nose twitched as he thought; Nicholas found that to be the cutest thing, especially when Sören's nose crinkled a little. "I forget what you have in your DVD collection, because it's so big -"  
  
Nicholas couldn't resist. "I didn't realize I had pounded away your ability to remember what DVDs I had."  
  
It took Sören a few seconds and then he lost it, falling over on Nicholas in hysterics, shaking, wheezing, tearing up, snorting. "Goddammit, Nick..."  
  
"You've corrupted me." It was true; Nicholas normally wasn't like this. It was a good feeling.  
  
"Rakehell."  
  
Nicholas laughed too. He also thought it was cute when Sören repeated his old-fashioned words in that charming accent of his. "Thank you." He tousled Sören's curls, feeling that glow of satisfaction that he'd made Sören laugh. He did love that laugh so.  
  
 _You love everything._  
  
When Sören calmed down, he said, "Do you have Disney movies?"  
  
"I do," Nicholas said with a small nod.  
  
"Oh good." Then Sören sat up, looking a little sheepish. "And thank you for not judging me for being a grown man who -"  
  
"I got the DVDs to entertain the kids when they visit," Nicholas said, and now it was his turn to feel sheepish for calling grown adults "the kids", but Karen and Geir were very like his own. "Or at least that's my excuse."  
  
"Right, because you would never on your own."  
  
"No, never." Nicholas smiled. "Especially not _The Lion King._ "  
  
Sören's face lit up at the mention of it. "Oh, that's your favorite one too?"  
  
Nicholas nodded solemnly.  
  
"Good, let's watch that." Sören leapt off the couch and _hopped_ over to the DVD shelf, his boyish eagerness making Nicholas laugh.  
  
Sören put in _The Lion King_ , got refreshments, dimmed the lights and sat back down next to Nicholas on the couch, scooting closer than he had before. As Nicholas started the presentation, he put an arm around Sören and sighed softly as Sören rested on his shoulder.  
  
Tobias got up on the couch with them, purring away, and as "The Circle of Life" started, Sören got up, picked Tobias up and held him over his head and began to sing "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARAFINWAY, MAMA MEATSABAH..."  
  
Nicholas facepalmed, chuckling. Tobias meowed and Sören sat back down on the couch; Tobias climbed on Sören's shoulder, purring.  
  
It had been at least a few months since Nicholas had seen _The Lion King_ , and between that, and seeing it with someone new, it felt fresh, affecting Nicholas more profoundly than before. Enough so that when Simba and Nala kissed as "Can You Feel the Love Tonight" played, Nicholas felt caught up in emotion and turned to look at Sören, who also turned to look at him, love shining in those beautiful brown eyes - looking up with something like awe.  
  
Nicholas took a moment to study his face, the full lips parted slightly, inviting. Nicholas stroked Sören's cheek, then his thumb traced the soft lips, and at last they moved in for a kiss.  
  
That kiss was the only thing that mattered, the only thing that existed. They forgot all about the movie, all about anything but each other as their mouths met again and again, tongues playing, searching, as if they were reclaiming something they'd lost - and found. They kissed and kissed, hands roaming over each other's silk pajamas, teasing nipples through fabric, rubbing the hard bulge in each other's pants as their tongues licked between kisses, as Nicholas kissed and licked and nibbled Sören's neck and throat and Sören's mouth hungrily yet playfully explored his own, sending shivers through him.  
  
When both pairs of pajama bottoms were wet with precum leaking, Nicholas nibbled along Sören's jaw and rasped, "Upstairs?"  
  
"Fucking please."  
  
Nicholas thought about turning off the television and DVD player but he decided to just leave it, feeling too urgent. Arthritis be damned, he climbed the stairs as quickly as he could, and once they were at the top of the steps they grabbed each other, kissing all the way down the hall, shucking their pajamas right there in the hallway a few steps from the bedroom, not caring that they were in a messy heap on the floor. They kissed all the way to the bed, touching every inch of flesh that they could reach, hard cocks rubbing together with each step.  
  
When they got on the bed they kissed deeply, then spent a moment just looking into each other's eyes, petting.  
  
"I want," Sören husked, "to ride you."  
  
"Mmmmm." Nicholas liked that idea. He leaned in and whispered, "Daddy's boy wants a horsey ride?"  
  
"Oh _god._ " Sören's cock jolted and Sören bit his lower lip, groaning.  
  
Nicholas grabbed the lube that Sören had left here after their night of passion over a week ago. They kissed feverishly as Sören lubed up Nicholas's cock. Sören straddled Nicholas's hips and Nicholas watched as Sören sank down on the hard cock waiting for him, slowly. Sören's breath came in gasps as the cock stretched him, filled him. "You're so big, Daddy."  
  
"That's what you do to me, sweetheart."  
  
The hot, silken vise around him was almost too good, and for an instant Nicholas feared he'd come too soon, leaving Sören unsatisfied. But then Sören began to ride, slowly, and the delicious sight of Sören's lithe body moving fluidly, gracefully, hips rolling, like a sensuous dance... his hard cock gliding in and out of Sören's passage... Nicholas was captivated, wanting to stay lost in their rhythm and watch Sören forever, lost in his beauty. Lost in _worship_.  
  
And Nicholas could see the worship reflected in Sören's own eyes. He could feel it in Sören's touch, holding his face so tenderly, then Sören's hands slid over the hairy chest, down the stomach, over the hips and thighs, back up again to rest on his heart.  
  
"I love you, Daddy," Sören whispered. "You feel so right inside me."  
  
"This is right," Nicholas said, his thumb tracing Sören's lips again. "We belong together, my love."  
  
"Always."  
  
And for a moment Sören looked afraid, and Nicholas understood - he had the same fear of being seen as getting too serious too fast. But it was exactly the word Nicholas wanted and needed to hear, to put his own fears to rest. He grabbed Sören's face and kissed him hard, and Sören began riding him harder, faster. Nicholas's hands slid down to Sören's hips, gripping them as he thrust into him, matching Sören's bouncing rhythm.  
  
"Always," Nicholas said back to him, and kissed him again.  
  
Breathless, Nicholas kissed Sören's neck and shoulder, and down to his nipples. He licked and licked, delighting in watching the pierced nipples swell under his tongue, ripe and glistening. "Such lovely little rosebuds."  
  
"Oh god, Daddy." Sören shuddered, whimpered, grabbed onto him tighter as he bucked even harder. "Daddy..."  
  
"You like that, sweetheart?" Nicholas suckled hard, and Sören threw his head back, whining as he continued bouncing away.  
  
"Daddy," Sören cried out. He shivered again. "Daddy, Daddy, more, Daddy..."  
  
Nicholas gave a deep, primal grunt. He slapped Sören's ass, suckling the other nipple, then kissed his way back up Sören's throat. "Such a good boy. Daddy's good boy."  
  
Sören gave an urgent high-pitched noise and Nicholas watched Sören's cock jet precum. Nicholas groaned - the sight and sound of that was indescribably erotic to him. And Nicholas now knew something Sören liked. "My good boy," Nicholas said, fingers and thumb playing with one nipple before he kissed the other. "My good, sweet, darling boy..." He kissed Sören's heart.  
  
"Daddy. _Daddy._ Daddydaddydaddydaddy more moremoremoremore Daddydaddy _daddy_..."  
  
"Mmmmmmm." Nicholas went back and forth between Sören's nipples, one hand teasing the one his mouth wasn't feasting on. The sight of those wet, hard pierced nubs, the needy look on Sören's face, the way he worked his body, the channel gripping his cock over and over again... the lewd slap of their flesh, the way Sören moaned, those cries of begging Daddy for more... it was getting to be too much and Nicholas growled as he fought the urge to come. But he was closer, closer, right there, the tension building higher and higher, ready to explode...  
  
"Daddy." Sören guided Nicholas's hand to his cock, now completely slick with precum. "Daddy, I need to come, Daddy..."  
  
Nicholas stroked Sören's cock in time with his thrusts, in time with the frenzied rhythm of Sören rocking on top of him. "Yes, darling. Such a good boy, deserves to come for Daddy..."  
  
"Oh god." And then Sören closed his eyes and trembled, and when he opened them he let out a deep, shaking gasp. " _Daddy!_ " Sören quivered again and Nicholas heard himself cry out with Sören as Sören's cock began to spurt all over him.  
  
Nicholas was undone right away, Sören's orgasm too hot to hold back any longer. Nicholas gave a mighty roar as he climaxed, and Sören's nails dug into him, keening as his channel contracted around him, and Nicholas's cock throbbed, throbbed, throbbed, each pulse shooting off his cream.  
  
" _Fuck_ ," Sören called out, almost sobbing, panting as he continued to spurt on him and clench around him.  
  
Their mouths met then, one last blaze of passion before the embers, the orgasm at last fading, fire now just light and warmth, radiant sunshine.  
  
They cuddled close. "Oh, my love." Nicholas rubbed his nose in Sören's curls and Sören rubbed his nose in Nicholas's chest hair. Nicholas smiled - he loved that Sören loved how hairy he was - and his arms tightened around the younger man. "I love you, darling."  
  
"And I love you, _elskan min_." Sören traced lazy hearts on Nicholas's flesh.  
  
Tobias hopped onto the bed and crawled closer to them, purring loudly. They rocked together for awhile, idly petting Tobias, and Nicholas's eyes began to get heavy, content from a good meal and a wonderful romp. Sören yawned and snuggled closer. Nicholas watched as Sören dozed off, amused, and he stayed awake just a little longer to look at his beloved sleeping... resting. Looking perfectly at peace. Nicholas knew there had been so little peace in Sören's turbulent life, and he knew true, good rest was hard to come by. He was glad to offer Sören a refuge, and grateful that Sören trusted him to provide it.  
  
He remembered that word Sören spoke during his ride. _Always._ They had all weekend, and yet it would be over too soon, and Nicholas didn't want Sören going back to his flat in Holborn, didn't want just visits, counting the days between, aching as he had for over a week. He wanted this for keeps, he wanted this life, Sören resting in his arms, against his heart, giving him release and relief. Giving him a home. A nest.  
  
Nicholas didn't want to wake up Sören to tell him that. He decided it could wait. And he himself was slipping off to sleep now, worn out from their wild, hot sex. It was a good tired, the endorphins still flowing, a smile on his lips as he closed his eyes.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Tobias woke them both in the morning, meowing for food. "I can go down and feed him if you want," Sören mumbled, a grumpy look on his face.  
  
"No, it's all right, dear. I can do it." Nicholas tried to not bristle - he knew Sören was just trying to be considerate, but Nicholas wanted to stay as active as he possibly could at his age, even as his arthritis twinged getting out of bed, putting on a robe, and going down, then up the stairs.  
  
When Nicholas reached the top of the stairs he realized he hadn't done his tai chi practice last night - something he'd have to remedy later - and, usually fastidious about hygiene, he hadn't brushed his teeth before falling asleep, either. He went to the bathroom and after he did his business, he opened the door and then Sören came in and attended to his own business casually while Nicholas brushed his teeth and washed up a little, including washing his cock. Having someone else in the bathroom at the same time was going to take some getting used to, and Nicholas was surprised he was OK with it at all, but searching himself, he knew the reason why he was OK with Sören being there like that was because Nicholas felt like he'd been starved, that Sören was filling an empty place Nicholas didn't even know he had. It felt even as if Nicholas were taking back something that had been stolen from him. So as strange as it was to share a bathroom with someone, he also welcomed Sören's presence there, and he found himself watching as Sören brushed his teeth.  
  
A few steps out of the bathroom, Sören gave him a minty-fresh kiss. "Morning," Sören said.  
  
"Good morning, sweetheart."  
  
Sören looked at the clock on the wall and chuckled. "It's too fucking early for me."  
  
It wasn't for Nicholas, but he also didn't work the kind of hours Sören did. Yet, instead of going about his usual morning routine, he followed Sören back to the bedroom and he smiled as Sören scooted over to him and snuggled into his chest once more. Nicholas wrapped his arms around the younger man, stroking his curls.  
  
"I love you," Nicholas husked.  
  
"I love you, _elskan min._ "  
  
Nicholas would never get tired of hearing it, especially the Icelandic endearment. He had never realized Icelandic was such a beautiful language. " _Mon petit amour,_ " Nicholas said back. " _Ma belle fleur de feu._ "  
  
Sören smiled and kissed the tip of Nicholas's nose, then rubbed his nose in Nicholas's chest hair before a soft sigh and winding down to sleep.  
  
Nicholas went back to sleep too - unusual for him - and they were woken up by Tobias again a few hours later, headbutting both of them aggressively and chirping in a concerned tone, as if to say "Why are you still both sleeping at this time of day?"  
  
Sören made noises so disgruntled that Nicholas couldn't help but chuckle. Sören glowered and Nicholas laughed harder.  
  
"What," Sören said.  
  
"You're cute when you're grumpy."  
  
Sören stuck his tongue out. Nicholas kissed Sören's brow, then the tip of his nose. Sören grinned and kissed Nicholas's mouth. What was meant to be a sweet, gentle kiss quickly heated and their tongues met, and Nicholas's cock rose to life, throbbing when he felt Sören's own hardness rubbing against his thigh. Then they kissed deeper, harder, as their bodies pressed together, cock rubbing cock, hands sliding over each other's bodies.  
  
"What does Daddy want?" Sören whispered between kisses at Nicholas's neck, making him shiver.  
  
Nicholas thought for a moment. He wanted everything. But of course, he couldn't do everything at once. Nicholas looked at Sören, and remembered how beautiful Sören looked riding him last night. He wanted to worship Sören's beauty, lose himself in Sören's body, even more fully than he had last night. "I want to spoil you."  
  
Sören smiled, and his smile became a grin as Nicholas gently rolled Sören onto his back. Then Nicholas proceeded to kiss, lick, and caress every inch of him, from his lips down his neck and throat to his shoulders, over his chest, spending a long time teasing Sören's nipples, Nicholas's mouth hungry to suckle and nibble, cock aching as he watched Sören go wild, writhing, bucking, panting, begging. Nicholas was delighted by the whimpers Sören made as he kissed and stroked Sören's stomach, hips and thighs - there was that one spot where his waist and hip met that was exquisitely sensitive, where if his thumb brushed it or he licked or nibbled on it, Sören would cry out, turned into a sobbing mess as Nicholas lingered there.  
  
Sören's precum-slick cock looked delicious, and was delicious when Nicholas at last took it into his mouth, eyes locked with Sören's, taking in every reaction, every gasp and moan and shiver, as he sucked slowly, slowly. Nicholas couldn't help stroking himself a few minutes in, so completely aroused by pleasuring Sören this way, how lovely Sören was in the throes of passion. Sören noticed Nicholas's shoulder and arm moving, and Sören grabbed his head and said, "Daddy, I want to suck you too."  
  
Nicholas realized what this meant and let the cock slip from his mouth. "You mean, at the same time?"  
  
Sören nodded. "If that's all right with you." Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip.  
  
"That's more than all right, sweet boy."  
  
They got into position, laying at each other's sides. Nicholas discovered there was nothing quite like having his cock sucked while he sucked Sören's cock, and it made him even hungrier for it, driven mad with lust and sensation. Sören was talented and enthusiastic, and quickly got Nicholas to that edge. They were both trembling, needy to come yet needing to keep going, to stay in this moment, where this was all there was, passion and pleasure utterly consuming them. And then they couldn't hold back anymore, Sören coming first, crying out around the cock in his mouth. The taste of Sören flooding his mouth set off Nicholas's own release, grabbing Sören's hands and squeezing as he climaxed. Hearing Sören moan "mmmmm, _mmmmmm_ " as he filled Sören's mouth was incredibly satisfying, pleased that Sören enjoyed it.  
  
They sat up and kissed, tasting the lingering notes of their pleasure, tasting good together. Some cream was still leaking from their cocks - it had been a powerful orgasm for both of them - and Sören collected cum from his own cock and stuck his fingers in Nicholas's mouth to taste. Then Nicholas did the same for Sören, and just the sight of those full lips wrapped around his fingers, sucking, before Sören licked them clean with slow, sensuous strokes of his tongue, made Nicholas crave more, but his body needed time to recharge.  
  
That recharge meant yet another nap. This was shorter than the hours-long nap they'd had, sleeping the morning away; Nicholas woke up a little over an hour later. He was reluctant to get out of bed just yet, watching Sören sleep, drinking in the beauty of his sweet face at peace, the long lashes framing his cheeks, the tousled curls. After a few minutes of watching him quietly, Sören stirred, and this time instead of grumpiness when he woke up, Sören smiled, a smile that melted Nicholas's heart.  
  
"Hi," Sören said.  
  
"Hi."  
  
"Hi."  
  
"Hi."  
  
"Hi."  
  
"Hi."  
  
"Jæja."  
  
"Salutations."  
  
They laughed, and rubbed noses. Sören looked at the alarm clock and made a face. "Jesus, we spent the entire day in bed. I'm sorry."  
  
"I'm not," Nicholas said, arms tightening around him. "I like cuddling with you. Feeling you close to me."  
  
Sören's eyes were a little too bright, and Nicholas wondered if he was having another unhappy memory. Sören confirmed it a moment later by saying, "Close to the end, when I was working a hundred hours a week, I had a weekend off for once and Anthony took me to Brighton and I just... crashed the entire weekend. I felt terrible. He claimed it was OK but in the end he showed it really wasn't."  
  
"Well," Nicholas said, "even a fool should understand that with you working so many hours, you need your rest, and I shan't begrudge you that."  
  
"OK. If it ever does become an issue, I need you to tell me honestly, not pretend to be fine with something when you're not."  
  
"Believe me, dear, I don't mince words when I dislike or disapprove of something."  
  
Sören chuckled. "I've noticed." His voice dropped in an imitation of Nicholas's basso. " _Jeans at the opera?_ Only rapscallions wear those."  
  
Nicholas glared - though in truth he was amused - and his glare quickly broke into a smile when Sören, giggling, kissed the tip of his nose and skritched Nicholas's whiskers fondly. Nicholas skritched Sören's beard in return.  
  
"I should take a shower," Nicholas said. "I prefer to shower daily."  
  
"You always smell good," Sören said. "None of that old-people smell." As soon as it was out of his mouth Sören facepalmed, looking sheepish. "Sorry, I..."  
  
"It's all right." Nicholas patted him. "I know what you're talking about, which is precisely why I endeavor to avoid it."  
  
"I have no brain-to-mouth filter sometimes," Sören said. "Really, a lot of the time. But I don't want you to get the impression that I have a problem with our age difference." Sören bit his lower lip. "I think you're so, so fucking hot."  
  
Nicholas's cheeks flushed. "I try to take care of myself."  
  
"It shows." Sören's eyes raked him. "Mind if I shower with you? I want some eye candy."  
  
Nicholas laughed - it felt so good to laugh like this, with him. "I feel so objectified." Then Nicholas said, with a smirk, "I like it."  
  
"Good. Get used to it." And as they got up from the bed, Sören grabbed Nicholas's ass.  
  
The shower quickly became sensual, with the two lathering each other; Nicholas thrilled to Sören's touch once more and his cock rose. They held each other under the spray, kissing passionately, hard cocks rubbing together. Sören reached down to take both their cocks in his fist, stroking, and Nicholas groaned into the kiss, losing his mind at the tight grip of Sören's hand and the velvet steel of Sören's cock against his. But he didn't want to come here in the shower - at least, not this time. There was something he wanted to try, something that had been in the back of his mind as he'd been planning for this weekend.  
  
Nicholas turned off the water and Sören made a rePierretant little sigh as he let go of their cocks. They toweled off and Nicholas quickly fell on him again, a surprising boldness in him as his mouth claimed Sören's, hands running over him, touching, _claiming_ , as he marched Sören back to the bedroom, kissing all the way. In the door of the bedroom they stopped, catching their breath, and Nicholas looked into Sören's eyes, studying the pupils blown wide, the pink cheeks, the kiss-swollen, parted lips.  
  
"I want to give myself to you," Nicholas said softly.  
  
"You mean..." Sören gestured down to his hard, dripping cock. "You want me in you?"  
  
"Yes. Please."  
  
"OK." Sören nodded. "Since this is your first time bottoming I need to get you really ready."  
  
"Really ready" meant Sören returning the favor of this morning, kissing, licking and caressing Nicholas's body all over, making Nicholas crazier and crazier with need and sensation until it was all Nicholas could do to not cry out _would you just fucking fuck me already_. Sören lingered at Nicholas's cock, not sucking but taking long, slow licks, teasing and teasing. Then Sören was licking Nicholas's balls, which felt incredible.  
  
Then, at last, Sören's tongue was inside him.  
  
It was not ever the sort of thing Nicholas thought anyone would be doing to him, and not something he would have asked for, but when Sören's tongue found that sweet spot inside him, lashing it, Nicholas heard himself cry out, the pleasure going straight to his cock. It was even more amazing than having his balls licked, Sören's tongue rubbing and rubbing there. Nicholas got more and more vocal, voice rising as the pleasure intensified, until it was almost too much to bear, gripping the headboard white-knuckled, calling out "Sören... _Sören!_ "  
  
"Oh, Daddy." Sören licked around the rim of the opening, before sticking his tongue back inside and licking more slowly, deliberately, playfully. Nicholas made a deep, guttural noise, feeling as if he was going to die from the exquisiteness of it. "Mmmmm," Sören murmured into him. "Mmmmhmmmm."  
  
Sören at last stopped, and lapped up the precum that was now pouring down Nicholas's cock, a show of making streamers between Nicholas's cock and his tongue. Nicholas handed Sören the lube and Sören worked lube over his own cock, then his fingers, and pushed one finger into Nicholas, finding that spot yet again and rubbing in slow, lazy circles as his tongue continued to lick and lick Nicholas's cock. One finger became two, then three, and the tightness gave way to comfort, and _needing_ to be filled, Nicholas rocking his hips, fucking himself on Sören's fingers.  
  
At last Sören got up, kissed Nicholas with his precum on his tongue, and said, "You have to tell me if I hurt you and need me to stop, OK?"  
  
Nicholas nodded.  
  
Sören put a pillow underneath Nicholas's hips, spread him out, and began to guide the tip of his cock to the waiting channel. Nicholas braced himself.  
  
There was pain, hot and sharp. Nicholas gasped, and Sören winced. "Do you need me to stop?"  
  
"No, I don't."  
  
"OK." Sören demonstrated deep breaths. "Breathe like this and, uh, push out. It'll help."  
  
Nicholas did so, and it did in fact help, and Sören was able to get farther and farther in until he bottomed out. Sören paused, giving Nicholas a chance to adjust. It was almost too tight, and then when Sören took his first thrust, that little slow dragging motion against that magic place inside him made it all worth it. And again, Sören going slow and gentle. And again.  
  
" _Mon Dieu._ "  
  
"Too much?"  
  
Nicholas grabbed Sören's hips. "That ring. The bead." He shuddered. Sören thrust again and the captive bead ring brushed that spot inside him once more. Nicholas cried out. "Sören..."  
  
"You OK?"  
  
"God, _yes._ " Nicholas's nails dug into Sören's hips and he made an urgent, feral noise. "Keep going. Don't stop..."  
  
"Mmmm, good."  
  
Sören kept the pace slow for awhile, and Nicholas could tell from the way Sören was trembling, panting, the look of heat on his face, that it was just as much for Nicholas's comfort and easing him into his first penetration, as it was for Sören to hold back his own release. "You feel so fucking good," Sören rasped. "God, so good." Sören shuddered and bit his lower lip with a deep groan. " _Fuck._ I've never felt anything so tight."  
  
"I love this," Nicholas said. He loved being inside Sören just as much, and he loved that they would be able to take turns inside each other. "I love you."  
  
Sören couldn't hold back forever, and Nicholas encouraged him, rolling his hips, matching Sören's rhythm. When Sören reached down to stroke Nicholas's hard cock the combination of the rubbing inside him and the grip around him was almost too delicious to bear, and Nicholas felt himself flying towards that edge, going out of his mind with pleasure and the beauty of Sören rocking into him, the fierce look on Sören's face, being conquered by his very own Viking.  
  
"Sören, I'm so close..."  
  
"Yes, _elskan._ " Sören's grip on Nicholas's cock got even tighter, and he stroked harder. "Come for me, Daddy. Want to see you come, make you come so _fucking_ hard..."  
  
"Oh god." He was closer, closer. Nicholas didn't want to give in just yet, it was so good, that moment of excitement as good as an orgasm itself, wanting to stay there forever, and then his body gave in and he erupted all over Sören's chest and stomach, shouting out his pleasure. It was such a different orgasm from what he'd known before, not just his cock throbbing but his insides, contracting, the pulsing so intense it made him laugh and cry all at once, euphoria. "Oh, Sören. I love you. I love you. I love you."  
  
"Yes, _elskan_. Yes." And with two more thrusts Sören climaxed, throwing back his head and screaming, magnificent in his ecstasy. Nicholas loved the sight of it, and loved even more that feel of Sören's molten flow in his most intimate place, the evidence of their tryst.  
  
They lay there for awhile, their hearts beating in the same rhythm, looking into each other's eyes. They had no words for a long time, nor was there any need for words - nor would words suffice for the power of what they had shared. But as the afterglow faded, Nicholas finally broke the silence with a simple, "Thank you."  
  
"Thank _you._ " Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip, before giving Nicholas that sweet, radiant smile that took his breath away. "I hope I didn't hurt you too much."  
  
"I'll likely be a little sore, but it was worth it. So very, very worth it." Nicholas kissed Sören's cheek. "Whoever invented that piercing -"  
  
"It's a Prince Albert."  
  
"They deserve some sort of award."  
  
Sören cracked up laughing. "I've been told that, yes." Then Sören looked sheepish. "Sorry, I shouldn't mention other lovers in bed, that's rude -"  
  
"It's... it's all right." Nicholas knew that Sören not being exclusive was going to be an adjustment for him, but he accepted it, so long as Sören made time for him.  
  
Lots of time. Nicholas once again felt that urge to talk about the _always_ from last night, but he needed some time to gather his thoughts. He looked at the clock. "I should start dinner, then perhaps after dinner we can go for a walk?"  
  
They ate on the rooftop garden that night, and Nicholas did in fact feel a little sore as he climbed the stairs. He questioned his sanity as he and Sören went on that after-dinner walk and he had to walk gingerly, but he was also feeling restless and he didn't want to start slacking off on things he did for his health, especially after his scary bout with the flu not so long ago. The walk was not just good for getting his body moving, but the fresh air gave him a sharper focus, and it was a peaceful winter night, light snow falling around them, crunching under their feet. It was positively magical, walking hand-in-hand like this in the soft golden glow of the streelights in the blue dusk, snow sparkling. Nicholas wanted to do this with Sören every night, if Sören was home from work.  
  
And that set the stage for the conversation he needed to have. "Sören," Nicholas said, "as you know, I love you very much."  
  
"I love you very much too, _elskan._ " Sören looked a little concerned then, and Nicholas realized Sören was probably expecting him to drop a bomb.  
  
Nicholas put a reassuring hand on Sören's arm, and squeezed. "I hope you won't think this is moving too fast, but I've really liked this weekend so far... and I missed you terribly in the days we were apart, while you were working so much." Nicholas paused then, and got in front of Sören, to look him in the eye. "If you'd like to move in with me, I'd like to share my home with you. Share my life with you. Grow old with you."  
  
Sören's jaw dropped and his eyes widened, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing, and for the briefest instant it was Nicholas's turn to worry - but then Sören threw his arms around him, kissed him hard, and spun him around under the streetlight. "Yes," Sören yelled. "Yes, _yes_ , YES."  
  
Nicholas was thrilled. His heart danced, his spirit soared. He squeezed Sören tight, and kissed his brow, blinking back tears, overcome with joy. "Yes?"  
  
Sören nodded. "We're doing this." Sören bit his lip. "Uh, how soon do you want me to move in?"  
  
"As soon as possible." Then Nicholas remembered Sören's flat in Holborn. "I don't want you to get in trouble breaking your lease -"  
  
"I'm on a month-to-month," Sören said. "I can tell my landlord on Monday and be out by Friday, or sooner, if I have some help. I don't have a lot of stuff -"  
  
"I can help you move, and probably Karen and Geir, and possibly even Ben and Pierre, can assist."  
  
"OK." Sören nodded. Then he pulled back, looking serious all of a sudden, and said, "There is one thing."  
  
 _Of course there is._ Nicholas took a deep breath and waited for it.  
  
" _As you know,_ " Sören said, "I was engaged to be married and that didn't end well. So, I'm willing to move in with you, and you'll get the lion's share of my time even though I'm not exclusive. We can do this for life, if it works out. But I'm not marrying you. I'm not doing anything legally binding after what I've been through -"  
  
"I understand, Sören." Nicholas would be lying if he'd said he wasn't slightly disappointed by that, but he did very much understand why Sören wasn't going there, and Nicholas also understood that logically, he would both feel strange getting married in a humanist ceremony after his background as a priest, and yet completely wrong getting married in a religious ceremony. "We don't need a piece of paper." Nicholas put Sören's hand on his heart, and squeezed. "We're as good as married here."  
  
"Yes." Sören's eyes shone. "I know you worry I think it's too fast, but..." He shook his head vehemently. "This feels right."  
  
"We belong together," Nicholas husked. "We belong to each other." Then he chuckled, thinking of how fond Sören was of Tobias - and vice versa. The cat had started to sulk when Sören wasn't around; he'd be happy with Sören living there. "And we belong to Tobias."  
  
"Toby can be my cat now, too?" Sören's face lit up.  
  
Nicholas nodded, and he couldn't resist adding, "As you know, his name is Tobias."  
  
"Come on," Sören said, pulling Nicholas's arm, leading him in the direction of the flat. "Let's go home. Toby is waiting."  
  
"You're an even bigger rapscallion than he is."  
  
" _Takk._ "  
  
Nicholas swatted Sören's ass, and Sören's laughter rang out into the night.


End file.
